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962. alistairConnor - 3/13/2009 1:50:29 AM Gustav Kronen was ready. He'd been through security, makeup, and a briefing from the production assistant : cues she will feed you, hooks you can hand back to her. Surprisingly, this fellow Robin seemed to have familiarised himself with Kronen's work; he felt little hope that the show's host, Sue Hanson, the latest star of the breakfast slot, would have taken the trouble to do so.
She had shaken his hand limply, given him one of those smouldering "let's have sex" looks that are the merest politeness in this high-flying New York milieu. And now she was on air, going through her opening patter, and he had ten minutes to go before his segment.
He found himself ruminating over his experience with Errin Davidson. The train trip had been quite exhilarating : they had been able to discuss their respective work in depth, free from uncomprehending students or journalists, and their intellectual excitement had spilled over into a natural intimacy. No trace remained of her rather stiff and formal professional manner; her girlish laughter came easily, and her awkward adolescent mannerisms charmed and excited Gustav. She had remembered about the bed-and-breakfast when the journey was almost over, and it was, she judged, too late to bother the lady at such an hour. Gustav took this as proof that she wanted him, that her offer of her spare bedroom was no mere politeness, but the pretext for an adventure they both desired.
Arrived at her charming cottage, Kronen took a shower then waited excitedly while Errin took hers. Wearing underpants and a carefully-adjusted half-open dressing gown, he preened himself before the mirror, then stood waiting outside the bathroom door. When he heard the shower stop, he waited a couple of seconds, then opened the door at exactly the same moment that she pulled aside the shower curtain.
And there she was, in all her splendour. Smallish, rather pointed breasts, with big, soft, orange nipples. Perfectly white, silky skin, lightly freckled. Broad hips, with a ginger tuft, much redder than her light auburn hair, not trimmed but naturally sparse; revealing a plump, well-rounded mound of Venus, deeply cleft.
He took in all this in an instant; and only then did he register the expression of shock and dismay on her face. He backed out of the room, babbling something about a toothbrush, and fled to the spare room.
The following morning at breakfast, Errin had been bright, cheery and efficient. Gustav had felt compelled to offer an apology for his vulgar misunderstanding; she stammered "Oh - let's not talk about it please", and they both blushed deeply.
Confounded Englishwomen, thought Gustav angrily. Why can't they show their sexual feelings simply, like the rest of humanity? It made him feel like he was fourteen all over again. 963. alistairConnor - 3/14/2009 10:50:15 AM [No reactions eh? I'm going to have to double down...] 964. wabbit - 3/14/2009 5:04:28 PM I'm following along, AC, though I confess that I'm a bit lost at this point. I've got a page up with the story not in posts, but maybe someone could put it into chapters or organize it? 965. magoseph - 3/14/2009 7:35:01 PM Have you received my E-mail, Wabbit? 966. wabbit - 3/14/2009 8:25:33 PM Just checked the spam folder and found it. Stupid Yahoo. Will reply right now. 967. alistairConnor - 3/16/2009 12:02:33 AM Lost! Well, that's useful feedback...
All you need to know about The Story So Far : (my version!)
A corporation of high-tech Californian vampires is plotting to take over the world, by controlling world leaders. Meanwhile, a scientific team is being assembled in Geneva to study vampires and associated phenomena of mind control and teleportation. They don't yet know about the plot, but logically they are going to thwart it.
Or not. We'll see when we get there. Logically the key is Iancu the assassin, he will have to decide where his loyalties lie. 968. alistairConnor - 3/16/2009 12:12:25 AM Kronen's phone vibrated. Damn, I should have switched it off, he thought. Seven minutes to go. He saw it was Albu, and decided to take the call.
"Albu, I can't talk, I'm about to go on air."
"You must not go on the show, Gustav! Your life is in danger! Errin Davidson's also!"
Albu quickly outlined what Hank had told Halima about his mission. "So if you draw attention to yourself and your work, you will naturally become a target too."
The continuity man signaled to him : two minutes. He thanked Albu and hung up. Well, he thought, they say that ridicule doesn't kill. We'll see if that's true. They think I am vain, pretentious, publicity-seeking? Let them watch this. They'll see that I know how to take one for the team. 969. wabbit - 3/16/2009 12:19:18 AM Sorry for not being more useful, AC. 970. alistairConnor - 3/16/2009 1:45:35 AM Sue had still not decided on how to handle this segment. She was intrigued by Kronen's positioning, mixing nuclear physics, biology and the occult; she would enjoy the challenge of bringing some understanding of these subjects to a wider audience. But she knew that only one in a hundred among her breakfast audience would have the interest or patience to follow her in picking her way through a difficult subject. Let's be generous : three or four in a hundred. Could she afford to bore the others? It would be so much easier to patronize him, cut off his laborious explanations, make him look a fool. Better ratings. Unless he was a really talented communicator, he wouldn't stand a chance with her. She got so sick of
serving up patsy questions to untouchable celebrities; she was legendary for being really savage, on occasion, with unknowns.
Still hesitating, she welcomed Kronen onto the show, getting up to reach over the coffee table to shake his hand. Taking care to lean forward, she made sure he got a good eyeful of her lace bra. Not so much for the effect it would have on him; it was more for the TV audience. That was one dirty little secret of her success; the audience didn't get to peek over Kronen's shoulder and leer at her tits, but they loved to watch her do that. Bless their perverted little hearts.
But actually, he didn't sneak a peek at all. They locked eyes during the handshake. And Sue knew instantly : Dr Gustav Kronen, I am going to fuck you. This was no theoretical or long-term intention; it was direct and immediate, and, she instinctively knew, shared; they would fuck that very morning. Or die in the attempt.
She felt a surge of exhilaration; an erotic charge, certainly, but intensified by joyful relief. It had been so long since she'd experienced that moment of truth. Not since, goodness, well before the baby. She had feared that that part of her was gone forever, a page turned. She felt tenderly grateful to this geeky German for bringing her back from the half-dead.
She could tell by the way he was squirming in his seat that he was getting an erection. And then, as he shifted position, God, did he flash it at her deliberately, or was he really as clumsy and awkward as he looks? That's quite some chubby... she instinctively calculated the angles; no, none of the cameras would have picked it up. But certainly, some of the ladies in the studio audience will have got a look. She herself was thoroughly wet. 971. alistairConnor - 3/16/2009 2:09:42 AM All of this was occupying only one minor channel of her multitasking mind. Meanwhile, the interview was going wildly off the rails. She fed him his cues, about vampires and nuclear physics, and he responded with hammed-up vampire impersonations from horror movies. In a cavernous Boris Karloff voice: "Come here my darlink, I vant to zuck your blood!"
There were isolated giggles and stifled shrieks of laughter from the studio audience. The floor manager and the warm-up guy were staring at each other in horror. There was not supposed to be any comedy segment in today's program; the audience was not cued up for it, and it could turn to chaos very quickly.
Sue made one last attempt to bring him back on track : Tell us about your theory of teleportation? "No no, wampires haff no need of zat : zey can fly!" and he got to his feet, wafting his arms up and down. The studio audience erupted in laughter; the floor manager was obliged to adapt, conducting without a score, indicating to the audience when to turn up the volume of laughter and when to cut it off.
It got better. Sue and Gustav were adapting too, improvising some genuinely witty banter. As she steered the segment to a close, she heard herself saying "Thank you Dr Kronen for a fascinating insight into your work. Please stick around, I'd like to talk to you after the show."
He got a huge round of applause as he left the set, and Sue welcomed the following guest : a famous dame patroness of the arts, whose financier husband had just declared bankruptcy. She had consented to discuss the issue of the coming crisis in arts funding, but was visibly brimming with self-pity as she reached the end of her hour in the sun.
-----------
Oh fun. Here was Ken, the show's director, come to tear strips off her. "Jesus Christ, Sue, what the hell possessed you to pull a stunt like that without telling anyone? Bringing in a comedian disguised as a scientist. You realise it could have turned to shit in a hundred different ways?"
They had never liked each other. He had been on the show forever, had disdained her in her years in menial tasks, had been a hard taskmaster when she had started hosting the show. It was only in recent months that she had unequivocally gained the upper hand, and she had not yet had the occasion to make him really feel it. She replied to him so quietly that none of the eager ears around them could make out the words, in a tone that sounded apologetic and conciliatory. "Listen, you little wanker, if I want to take risks on my show then I'll take them. The audience loved it, the ratings will be good. If you want to make a fuss about it, then I suggest that you will soon have the opportunity to expand your career horizons in a new environment. Clear?" 972. alistairConnor - 3/16/2009 2:31:46 AM She found Kronen, dazed and haggard, in front of a coffee at a table in the cafeteria. His face lit up when she arrived. She sat beside him and immediately put her hand on his cock. "Dr Kronen..."
"Please - call me Gustav", he said in a strangled voice.
"I'd like to invite you to brunch. Do you know New York well? I know a charming little restaurant in Brooklyn Heights."
She whistled up the car. He shuffled out of the studio in her wake, hunched over, clutching his clipboard in front of him.
As they settled into the back seat, the Chechnyan torturer looked at her enquiringly. "To Denny's", she said, dismissively. She was already busy with Kronen's flies. He bent across to kiss her, but she averted her face, obliging him to kiss her neck, which he did very competently, progressing to her shoulder. To avoid any awkward fumbling, she unhooked her bra herself. He rapidly unbuttoned her blouse and smoothly pushed the cups up, his hands barely touching her skin. Oh good, she thought, he's not a squeezer. And suddenly she had a violent need to have her breasts sucked. That was something she strictly forbade Jonas to do; they were the exclusive domain of Maximus, for as long as he needed them. And now, she was going to be unfaithful to both of them...
She laughed suddenly. These are my tits, this is my cunt. I will do what I want with them. 973. alistairConnor - 3/16/2009 3:47:30 AM But Gustav was no sucker, it seemed. He kissed the underside of her breasts in a rather perfunctory manner, and started working lower. Sue was carefully controlling her breathing to avoid any gasping or panting effect. Among the many vulgar behaviours she despised, noisy sex ranked highly.
Gustav removed her (shamefully humid) panties rather expertly, and peeled back her silk stockings to the knees. Quick, moist kisses of her abdomen and thighs made his intentions clear, and she opened her legs to allow his tongue to reach its goal.
A broad lengthwise sweep of the tongue forced an involuntary yelp out of Sue. Vexed with herself, she clenched her teeth and whimpered as he took the long, engorged lips into his mouth and sucked. She felt the orgasm rising and fought it. Too soon; everything must be under control, on schedule, on cue. But to her horror, she found that she could not prevent it, barely delay it. As it washed over her, she sought at least plausible deniability in silence, but made little sobbing noises in her throat.
Seizing the initiative, she sat up and pushed him backwards, bending over him to remove his trousers and underpants completely, so that she could fuss over his penis. That was a lesson she had learned early and had always served her well : you can make a man do anything you want, just take control of his joystick.
She nibbled at his testicles and licked the shaft a little bit, then took the head gently between her teeth and ... did nothing with it. She moved upwards, sweeping her breasts over his abdomen. Now it was Gustav's turn to sigh and moan. Her breasts had been oozing all morning, they were dribbling now. Climbing over him, she swung them up into his face. He nibbled and licked politely, but still did not suck. Well, she certainly wasn't going to beg him.
She sat on his balls, her vulva pressed against the base of his shaft. Who's in the driver's seat now honey? she thought. But despite her rich interior dialogue, they hadn't exchanged a word since the cafeteria. 974. alistairConnor - 3/16/2009 4:15:43 AM Gyrating from the hips, she started inching slowly forward, sliding up the shaft towards the head. At a snail's pace. She became aware of the driver's eyes in the mirror, watching her glistening breasts, dripping their milk onto Gustav's belly as they swayed rhythmically.
He became impatient with her game, and pushing himself up on his elbows, he slid his hands under her thighs and lifted. He managed to free his legs, and sitting up, pressed her thighs back with his torso. She was now flat on her back with her legs around his neck, and she could see the girders of the bridge behind his head as they left Manhattan.
Grabbing his tool, he flicked the head back and forth against her clitoris for a few seconds. She was resolutely silent. He positioned the head between the lips, and paused, leaning on her thighs with all his weight. She exhaled : "ffffffffffuuuuuuuuuuuu" and bit her lip, hard, to stop anything else slipping out.
He started moving rhythmically: very quick, shallow thrusts, penetrating barely an inch or two. She was making a keening noise. As the car turned off the bridge into Brooklyn, the driver half-turned to look her in the face, with an expression that was both blank and intense : lust? envy? hatred? contempt? she wondered; and came. 975. webfeet - 3/20/2009 9:27:08 PM and look what happens when I go away for a few days... 976. webfeet - 3/20/2009 9:45:33 PM One question: why Brooklyn? Why did you single out this poor burrough for this loony sex scene? 977. alistairConnor - 3/21/2009 3:52:34 PM Well thank you for breaking the embarrassed silence...
On the radio yesterday (France Culture évidemment, I bet your beau-père listens to it all day long) I heard an erudite discussion about Jean-Jacques Rousseau (surely the pioneer, or an ancestor at least, of autofiction). Was he persecuted? paranoid? did he invite it? Enjoy it? He gave public readings in Paris of his Confessions, in 1770 or thereabouts. He wanted discussion, debate, contradiction. Feedback. And all he got was embarrassed silence. In fact, one of his intimates denounced him to the police, who forbade any more public readings; apparently she feared that she would feature in future episodes...
All I can say is, it's your own fault. You and Jen. You set up your sex scenes, then you walk away from them. I need to move the story along, so against my better judgement, I had a try...
I'll tell you what. By the powers vested in me as host of the thread, I will obliterate the loony sex. On condition that you first replace it with your own, sensible version. Or anything else that deals with the characters and doesn't denature the storyline. Deal?
Same offer for Dr Davidson... 978. alistairConnor - 3/21/2009 4:11:17 PM As for Brooklyn, well, I've been there, and I thought perhaps I could do something with the bridge, symbolism or imagery. But it turned out a bit rushed. I should work more on description and atmosphere. 979. alistairConnor - 3/22/2009 6:08:57 PM Memo to Nu : If you have any idea what might happen at CERN, please take over that chapter... you've got the quantum physics angle. (I've set up the scene, now I'm walking away... yes I'm a tease too.) 980. alistairConnor - 4/9/2009 6:52:42 PM Halima had agreed with Albu that both Iancu and Dumitra should come to Geneva, where they could both be kept under surveillance. In the circumstances, that meant that she had to escort them there.
"I'm worried about Dumitra being in a big city at this stage. It's probably easier to buy meth than cigarettes in Geneva these days."
"Indeed", Albu replied. "But the physical danger to you, and to the two vampires, can be better managed here. Who knows when another assassin will turn up on your doorstep?" 981. alistairConnor - 4/9/2009 7:27:48 PM Albu pressed her, again, to accept the job of managing the Geneva team. "My administrative and organisational tasks are taking away too much time from research. And now we have security concerns, which I have no experience with. We need you here."
"I'm still thinking it over", she assured him.
They took Iancu's rental car: it was pre-paid for another four days, he assured them. The trip was uneventful. Here I am, Halima thought, chaperoning an assassin and a drug addict, both of them vampires. Oh well, I've seen worse. My ex and his family, for example.
She delivered her charges into the tender cares of Dr Ayotunde and his security staff, who had dealt with far tougher cases than these young lovers. Then she joined Alistair in his charming studio apartment, with a view of the lake. They ate the dinner Alistair had prepared, with a bottle of wine (a Seyssel, from a little vineyard halfway between Lyon and Geneva). They finished the wine in the bath, then they made love.
Afterwards, Halima started grilling Alistair about his relationship with Courtney.
"Relationship? We have no relationship. I'm her slave, that's all."
"That's what I'm concerned about", she said, smiling. "I think I'll accept the job here, so that I can keep an eye on you two. She's seventeen, she's pretty, she's adventurous : sooner or later she's likely to try a little sexual experiment."
"Oh come on, you flatter me. Why would she be interested in an old schnok like me? And what makes you think I'd play along, eh? Honest to god, I have no sexual interest in seventeen year olds."
"But you're her slave, right? She can make you do anything she wants."
"No, she can't make me do anything I can't make myself do! And in the words of the immortal poet, Georges Brassens : La bandaison, ma foi, ne se commande pas!"
"You mean that if she made you lie down naked on the bed, and she did ... this to you, nothing would happen?"
"Have you looked at her? She's not equipped to do what you just did."
"Or ... this?"
"Oh, cut it out. On second thoughts... Carry on. But she wouldn't get ...that reaction from me."
Halima sat up in the bed. "Methinks the gentleman doth protest too much", she said, starting to poke him in the face with a pillow. "Don't you want me to take the job?"
"On the contrary, I'd be delighted if you took the job. But not out of jealousy." She was batting him around the ears with the pillow now. "You know there's only one woman in the world you Ow! have to fear on that score... Ow!" She was bashing him over the head now. "And that's Penelope Ow! Cru-u-u-uz! And the odds of that are pretty damn long."
They collapsed in a giggling heap.
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