Summer Story: Part 3 (M/F Sex, Asians, Seasonal Affective Disorder)


Summer Story

Part 3



After their evening together at the symphony, Carla spent a lot of time 
over the next several weeks thinking about Kozue, eventually deciding 
that although the nature of her problem remained a mystery, its solution 
was a simple matter.  Kozue needed to get laid: there was nothing more to 
it than that.  The way she looked at the handsome musician made it 
obvious.  Carla could recognize loneliness, and certainly horniness, when 
she saw it.  She congratulated herself for reaching the conclusion. 

Jerry surprised her by coming up with a plan, which she agreed to 
readily.  Kozue had become such a fixation Carla thought she would go 
crazy if she didn't do something about it.  But as the day drew nearer, 
she began to have second thoughts.  It was essentially a harmless idea, 
which made her realize her objection was more to Jerry than his plan.  
They were spending a lot of time together; Carla hadn't been clubbing 
since they met.  Even though she felt comfortable around him, almost too 
comfortable, she felt hemmed in by him, as if she was surrendering her 
freedom to him piece by piece.  Too many times she found herself 
consenting to his wishes, mostly small inconsequential things, and then 
resenting him for it afterwards.

**

Entering the club, the sheer volume of the music made Kozue momentarily 
dizzy.  The bass and drums throbbed in the pit of her stomach.  Carla put 
a hand on her shoulder and scanned the smoke-filled room.  To Kozue, 
everything seemed a jumble - so much noise, so much frantic activity.  
People were milling about in a tightly packed crowd near the bar, while 
close to the band, under a shifting kaleidoscopic swirl of colored 
lights, she could see another crowded knot of people dancing.  Even in 
the midst of all that, she became aware of someone's eyes on her and she 
briefly made eye contact with a man standing close by making an obvious 
show of looking them up and down.  Kozue turned away, feeling self-
conscious.

"Follow me," Carla said as she led them, edging her way with practiced 
ease through the crush of people.  Brushing against all manner of 
strangers, it was all Kozue could do to keep up as Carla lead her to the 
empty table she had improbably spotted from across the crowded room.  
When they pulled up chairs Carla scooted close enough to be able to shout 
in Kozue's ear, the only way to be heard over the din.  

"Wait here," she ordered.  "I'm going for drinks."  

Kozue watched as Carla repeated the agile ballet of threading her way 
through the crowd.  At first she felt ill at ease to be sitting alone in 
the midst of such a mob, but after a few moments she began to relax; the 
darkness of the place, the anonymity amongst so many people was strangely 
liberating, even exhilarating.  She didn't know what the music was but 
the beat was infectious; the utter force of its volume was enough to have 
her tapping her foot and moving her body to its rhythm.  When Carla came 
back, smiling and holding two bottles of beer, Kozue eagerly drank almost 
half of hers right away.  Normally she was a slow drinker with a low 
tolerance for alcohol, but her adrenaline was up; she was nervous and her 
mouth felt dry.

Carla was telling her about the club, the band, and some of the guys she 
had met there.  She had to shout over the din to be heard and Kozue only 
caught about a third of what she was saying.  When they had finished 
their beers Carla left to fetch another round while Kozue, feeling much 
more at ease, ventured to look at the people around her.  The crowd was 
not as young as she had expected.  Most of them appeared to be of the 
thirty-something set.  A lot of the men still had their ties on from the 
office. These are all single guys out to meet women Kozue realized: no 
wives or girlfriends to go home to.  The ratio of men to women had to be 
at least five to one, and the number of females who were alone or 
unattended was almost zero.  The overt, barely contained sexuality of the 
place was suddenly oppressive.  Kozue's gaze crossed and darted away from 
numerous pairs of male eyes, bright with alcohol, or hope, or something 
she didn't even want to guess at.  Single men seemed to be everywhere, 
craning their necks, or in groups, posturing for each other, always with 
an eye over the shoulders of their companions, searching out the women in 
the place.  

Suddenly some of the stories Carla had told made more sense to Kozue.  
She had a renewed admiration for the way her friend had survived these 
shark-infested waters.  It occurred to Kozue that, if she wanted, even 
she could probably leave with one of the men here without much effort on 
her part.  Shivering, she recalled the hungry, glittering eyes of the man 
in the doorway.   How many other pairs of eyes had flitted across her, or 
lingered over her when she wasn't watching; what thoughts had passed 
through those minds?   With a dread-tinged, fluttery excitement, Kozue 
began to see the place as filled with predators, and herself as their 
prey.  She squeezed her knees together.  Even if she had wanted to 
surrender to one of them, she knew she would never be capable of it - she 
was too nervous, too afraid.  She lacked Carla's savvy, her ability to 
discern the bad ones from the good.

Carla returned with more beer.  The second one tasted stronger than the 
first and Kozue forced herself to put it down; her head felt light and 
airy.  Soon after, when Carla was in the middle of a story about someone 
she had met, a pair of male hands appeared on her shoulders.  She whirled 
around to face their owner.  Kozue heard her shriek "Jerry!" before 
leaping to her feet, and out of earshot.  She gestured excitedly, yelling 
into his ear over the band while Kozue watched.  He was handsome, just as 
Carla described him: tall, with dark hair, framing a broad, open face.  
He looked as if he had just come from the office, his tie still on and 
his jacket thrown over one shoulder.  Beside him was another man, dressed 
the same way.  His hair was a sandy blonde color and he was a few inches 
taller than Jerry, although more slightly built.  Everything about his 
features suggested verticality, his long thin body, and his narrow, 
serious looking face.  Kozue met his eyes and he gave her a faint, weary 
looking smile before shrugging and turning to watch Jerry and Carla in 
animated conversation.

While the two men pulled up chairs Carla leaned over to Kozue:  "Jerry 
just happened by with a friend of his from the office.  Isn't that a 
coincidence?"

Kozue nodded, although she sensed right away that Carla's surprise was 
staged.  She shook hands with Jerry when introduced and then with his 
friend, Steven.  The two men worked together in the same law firm a few 
blocks away.  They had sauntered over to unwind after a very long day at 
the office.  Carla filled Kozue in while Steven was up at the bar 
fetching drinks.  Jerry seemed oblivious to what was going on at the 
table.  With eyes closed, he was nodding his head, bobbing his entire 
torso with the beat of the music.  As soon as Steven came back with 
drinks for everyone the band stopped playing and some recorded music came 
on, much less loud, allowing them to talk.

Jerry began telling about the case they were working on at their law 
firm.  He monopolized the conversation, only turning to Steven a few 
times for confirmation of one point or another.  Kozue could see why he 
became a lawyer.  He had a way of engaging an audience and holding their 
attention, throwing in little witty asides along the way.  Steven, by 
contrast, was mostly silent, looking alternately sheepish or distracted.  
Kozue thought he seemed tired.  The few things he said revealed a dry 
sense of humor, and he delivered his words through a wan smile.  Glancing 
over at Carla, Kozue noticed her becoming agitated.  She was drumming her 
fingers on the tabletop while Jerry spoke, turning her head this way and 
that, as if looking for another table to go and sit at.  Kozue could see 
some of the problems Carla had with Jerry, but she felt sympathetic 
towards him; he was only trying to break the ice with his long-winded 
story.  

When Carla finally wrested the conversation from him, she began telling 
Jerry and Steven about Kozue - how she was from Japan, a psychologist, 
and a single parent.  Kozue felt embarrassed to be the object of what 
suddenly struck her as a sales pitch.  When she managed a glance in 
Steven's direction, she could see his obvious discomfort with what was 
going on, and she wondered if Carla and Jerry dragged him into this 
unwillingly.  Mercifully, the band began to play again and all 
conversation had to cease.

Once the music started up again Carla was barely containable.  She 
bounced around in her chair until, halfway through the first song, she 
was on her feet tugging at Jerry and begging for him to dance with her.  
Jerry protested against leaving their friends alone - Kozue saw him 
gesture to her and Steven before giving in and waving goodbye with a 
sheepish grin on his face as Carla led him off.

The next moments were awkward.  Both Kozue and Steven sipped at their 
drinks, glancing about the room trying to find the perfect neutral spot 
to park their eyes.  Finally, Steven moved into the chair beside her and 
asked if she cared to dance.  

Kozue politely declined the offer.  She couldn't recall the last time she 
danced, although she remembered enjoying it when she was younger.  Her 
husband refused to take her, and slowly her passion for it had died.

"Oh come on," Steven persisted.  "It will be better than us sitting here 
staring at the walls, or trying to shout over this noise."  He waved his 
hand towards the stage.  "I was in conferences all day.  My voice is 
about shot."

"I'd be embarrassed," Kozue answered.  "I haven't done anything like this 
in years.  I don't want to make a fool out of you, the way I dance..."

Steven was on his feet.  "You don't have to be concerned with that," he 
said, leaning over her.   "I've got to be the world's worst dancer 
myself.  But nobody cares.  No one is even going to notice you out there 
except me, and I won't tell anybody."  

He was offering her his hand.  Kozue felt on the spot; she didn't want to 
increase her level of resistance to the point where she would be fighting 
him off.  It seemed easier to just go along.  She stood up and they made 
their way towards the dance floor.

When they found a suitable gap in the crowd Kozue found herself beginning 
to panic: there were so many people around and she had no idea what to 
do.  Steven began to dance and Kozue watched him, trying to imitate his 
movements.  Right away it was obvious that he had given her an honest 
assessment of his skill as a dancer.  His movements were stiff and jerky, 
his body undulating as if caught in a viscous liquid from which he was 
trying to escape.  Nevertheless, he seemed to be enjoying himself and 
Kozue could not help smiling.  She quickly abandoned all attempts to 
emulate him and, reaching far back into her memory, tried to recall what 
dancing was supposed to be like.  It became obvious that Steven was also 
right about the people around them; nobody took any special notice of 
them and Kozue's panic began to subside.  She again felt that strange, 
liberating sensation of being free and alone in the midst of a crowd.

Kozue was relieved to discover that dancing seemed to have lost much of 
its erotic force for her.  Now it was almost like aerobics.  She looked 
at Steven dancing a few feet in front of her; he seemed lost in his own 
world, as did most of the dancers around them.  It was difficult to tell 
which pairs of bodies belonged together.  There were a few couples 
groping each other, but for the most part people could have been out on 
the floor by themselves. 

They caught sight of Carla and Jerry dancing frenetically.  Carla waved 
and said something into Jerry's ear making the two of them laugh.  For an 
instant Kozue felt self-conscious again, knowing the three of them had 
set up the whole situation behind her back.  Then the crowd obscured them 
and she tried to put it out of her mind; she had to admit she was having 
a good time, however it came to happen.  Abruptly, the song ended and 
another much slower one began.

"Uh oh, ballad," Steven said, sounding somewhat embarrassed.  "I suppose 
we should sit this one out."

Out of the corner of her eye, Kozue caught sight of Carla and Jerry 
heading back to the table.  For a brief instant anger flickered in her.  
She didn't want to go back and have to endure their smug sidelong 
glances, their little jokes at her expense.  She wanted to defy Carla in 
some way, confound her expectations, turn the table on her.

"I used to like slow dancing," she said to Steven, touching his arm.  
"You might have to remind me of a few things..." 

She almost regretted her decision when they began.  Steven was clumsy and 
rigid; Kozue ended up taking charge, trying to get him to move more 
gracefully.  His awkwardness made her feel more in sympathy with him.  
She assumed Carla and Jerry really had dragged him into the scheme 
reluctantly.  He didn't strike her as a suave, on the make type man.  She 
wondered if he was a good lawyer.

As they danced to the slow music she could feel him relax.  The muscles 
under her hands softened, and where his large palm was laid against the 
small of her back she could feel the warmth from his body begin spread 
into her.  Steven towered over her - the top of her head barely came up 
to his chin.  It was strange how the physical memory was so immediate, 
but Kozue clearly remembered being held by someone in just the same way, 
someone so much taller...  She had put the incident out of her mind, 
banished it, but dancing in Steven's arms brought it back with an 
immediacy that overwhelmed her.

She remembered the heat, although she could not say for sure what time of 
year it was.  He was a graduate student, the teacher of one of her 
courses.  Intelligent, witty and handsome, he had all of the right 
attributes to set a serious-minded, studious, college-aged girl's heart 
racing.  She flirted with him in her shy, self-effacing manner because he 
reminded her of her first lover, the American.  It had been four years, 
but already she looked back on the encounter with wistful nostalgia.  Of 
course, now that she had moved to America, so many men reminded her of 
him - all of them so tall, so handsome and exotic.  She had met very few 
foreign men in Japan.  After her American lover, she had found herself 
drawn to them, preoccupied with them.  Of course in America, they were 
everywhere, and she was the foreigner.

There was a party at the home of one of her psychology professors.  
Kozue's memory of the event was spotty.  She could recall walking through 
the elegant house, admiring the books, the artworks, drinking two glasses 
of champagne before she realized it was alcoholic.  Feeling light-headed, 
she made her way out onto the veranda where a group of students had 
gathered and were talking boisterously.  He noticed her arrive and moved 
to sit beside her on a low step.  They talked together for a long time as 
the evening grew darker.  Someone passed them a joint and, not knowing 
what it was, Kozue inhaled from it.  Someone was telling a funny story, 
something about the professor seeing a woman for analysis who arrived at 
every session having removed her underwear in the waiting room.  People 
were rolling over with laughter at the image of the uptight academic, 
face to face with the bare crotch of one of his patients.

Kozue began to feel something between an itch and an extreme 
ticklishness, as if she might jump out of her skin.  The humid air seemed 
to crawl across her body like so many warm, wet fingers.  Not sure what 
to do, she excused herself and found the bathroom where she splashed cold 
water on her face and neck.  Then, hardly aware she was doing it, she 
slipped her dress over her head and stood before the mirror wearing only 
her underwear.  She looked at her slender body, her boyish, small 
breasts, thinking she was no match for the robust American girls.  She 
would never be as beautiful, never as comfortable around men as they 
were.  Suddenly her appearance seemed foreign, outlandish even.  She 
wanted to be someone else, anyone, as long as she could fit in.  She let 
the dress slide back over her body and then, almost as an afterthought, 
she slipped her panties off and stuck them in a drawer.  Closing the door 
behind her, she wondered if the professor would find them the next day 
when he went to look for his razor.  She smiled wryly.

Returning to the party wearing only her thin summer dress over bare skin 
made everything different.  Kozue felt reckless and uninhibited as she 
wandered through the house, pausing to exchange a few words here and 
there, always acutely aware of her naked body separated from the outside 
world by the sheerest fabric.  After drinking another glass of champagne, 
she set out in search of him, eventually finding him still on the 
veranda.  A band had begun to play inside the house and the slow, sultry 
music was drifting outside.  It coiled about her like a living thing, 
infecting her with the desire to move to its rhythms. 

She was in his arms without knowing how it had happened; they were 
dancing, extremely close together. 
Her skin was so sensitive; she could feel every contour of his body where 
he pressed against her.  A muscle in his thigh contracted and released as 
he gently rocked back and forth.  When he slid his hand down her back 
Kozue could feel it passing over each of her vertebrae one after another, 
leaving a tingling trail in its wake.  Pausing at the small of her back, 
his hands went lower, to where her body became softer.  She knew the 
exact instant he discovered her little secret: the subtle shift in 
posture betrayed his surprise.  His fingers explored the area where the 
tiny ridge of her panties' elastic band should have been, passing up and 
down several times before making a quick, feather-light swoop across her 
behind.  Kozue was pleased to know she had done something he would never 
have expected from her.  He pushed more closely against her and she 
became aware of his erection pressing into her hip.

She remembered walking with him, off the veranda, through the garden and 
into a dark wooded area beyond.  Still hyper aware, she heard a small 
animal scurry for cover at their approach; a gentle murmuring off to her 
left betrayed the presence of another couple hidden nearby.

When they stopped walking, he kissed her deeply, and she could feel every 
contour of his lips and tongue. His breath had a green, smoky flavor, 
like burnt grass.  Kozue closed her eyes and surrendered herself to the 
firm grip of his embrace, letting his hands rove over her body.  When he 
touched her breasts, she felt as if each tiny ridge on the palm of his 
hand was softly grating across her flesh, sending her into ecstasy.  She 
felt him bunching her dress up at the small of her back; the hem of it 
tickled as it traveled upward over her thighs and the night air coming in 
between her legs made her bare skin tingle.  With one hand holding up the 
dress, he explored her body with the other, letting his blunt fingertips 
rake across the smooth flesh of her behind, down the back of her thighs, 
then between her legs.  With one finger, he deftly stroked her with a 
feathery light motion that sent bright shocks of the most intense 
pleasure throughout her body.

Kozue had never felt so vibrantly sexual.  She was hungry for his body in 
a way that was wanton and uncontrollable.  She knelt before him and undid 
his pants, freeing his heavy penis.  She explored it with her hands, 
still hyper aware of everything, feeling the details of every ridge and 
curve that passed beneath her fingertips.  The skin was silky smooth and 
warm to the touch.  It was stretched over the head as tight as a drum; 
the underside felt softer, but there she could touch the delicate, most 
sensitive spot, making him gasp.  The soft skin of his balls drew up 
tight as her fingers traced over them; she could feel every detail of 
their shape, the way they hung heavily in the delicate grasp of her 
fingertips.

She began stroking him, softy, rhythmically, with a cupped hand and he 
guided her, showing her just how much pressure to apply, urging her to go 
faster.  Kozue's hand moved like a blur over his rigid, silky skin. His 
hands were in her hair, stroking it, then on the back of her head, her 
neck, pushing her mouth down onto him.  Kozue softened her lips and felt 
the thick burning tip of his penis force its way into her mouth.

The hot shaft of flesh had a life of its own, seeking release in the back 
of her mouth.  Kozue struggled to contain him as he pushed himself deeper 
inside her, rocking his hips back and forth, withdrawing his blunt organ, 
only to drive it farther in on the next stroke.  She was a little afraid 
- she felt like gagging - but she was incredibly excited, and she wanted 
to please him.  With one hand, she reached between his trembling thighs 
and let her fingertips find the back of his balls and gave them a light 
tickling scratch.  By the way he groaned and increased the force with 
which he was driving himself into her, Kozue knew he was enjoying what 
she was doing.  

She could feel the fingers on the back of her neck grow stiff, like 
claws.  His motions grew jerky and his penis seemed to swell even larger, 
impossibly thick inside her mouth.  Kozue was straining to contain him 
when, without warning, he withdrew and she felt the warm splash of his 
orgasm strike her face, stinging her eyes.  He guided her hand to the 
base of his shaft and she felt him throb as he drenched her with three or 
four more heavy spurts.  His come was warm and ticklish on her face.  It 
was running down her cheeks, into her mouth, dripping off her chin, and 
still there seemed to be more of it.  He was guiding her hand, directing 
her to squeeze him harder and more come was oozing out over her fingers, 
running down her wrist.

Kozue had no explanation for what happened next.  She was never sure how 
or why her mood changed so violently.  It probably had something to do 
with how hypersensitive to everything she was.  She still felt aroused, 
expectant, even though he was spent.  She lowered herself to the soft 
ground, out of breath.  He was saying something to her, something that 
offended her deeply.  It was almost as if she didn't truly hear the words 
at first.  Perhaps she wanted to deny what she was hearing, but he went 
on.  She couldn't recall exactly what he said - something about her being 
his submissive 'oriental doll': he'd had his eye on her all along, just 
because she was Japanese.  The flash of anger blotted out her memory of 
his exact words, but the pain, the humiliation she felt were easy to 
remember.  She didn't want to be anyone's 'doll'; she wanted to be a 
person, like everybody else.  In an instant, she realized how superficial 
the nature of his attraction had been and she felt so ashamed of what she 
had let happen.  She could only recall bits and pieces of what came next; 
leaving him, running through the darkened woods, wiping her hands and 
face, the salt of her tears mixed with his now hateful, sticky come.  

She transferred out of his class after that and avoided him, refusing to 
return his notes and calls for the rest of the term.  The incident was a 
turning point, the closing of a door in her life.  Her infatuation with 
'foreigners' was over.  Afterwards, she kept more to herself and 
socialized with a smaller group of friends.  The next year she became 
more involved with the Japanese students' association on campus, an 
insular group, where she eventually met an engineering student from Japan 
- the man she eventually married.

Kozue gave a start.  Steven was squeezing her arm.  The music had 
stopped.  "Do you want to sit down or keep dancing?" he asked. 

"Let's sit down," she said.

**

"Look at them dancing!"  Carla leaned over towards Jerry.  "Aren't they 
cute?"  She let her arm drape across his shoulders; she was feeling 
pretty drunk, but not too concerned about it.  "I just knew your plan 
would work," she said.

Jerry shrugged and gave her arm a little squeeze.  "Why don't I get us 
more drinks?" he suggested, trying to lift Carla's arm off.

"No, forget it," she held onto him.  "I have a better idea."  She was on 
her feet.  "Take me outside for a breath of fresh air; it's so hot and 
stuffy in here," she said, pulling at the front of her blouse.

Jerry protested until Carla's persistence wore him down.  When they were 
standing out on the street an elevated train clattered by overhead.  
"Great idea, Carla," he said, looking nervously up and down the deserted 
street.  "What are we going to do now, stand here and wait to be mugged?"

Carla was hugging him from the side.  "Don't be such a worry wart."  She 
laughed.  "Worry wart," she said again, enjoying the sound of it.

"Come on, let's go back in," he said.  "They might be looking for us 
already." 

"No way," Carla snapped.  "Not the way they were dancing.  They were into 
each other; they'll be at it for a while.  We should leave them alone 
Jerry."  She poked his arm with her thumb.  "Where did you park?" she 
asked.

Jerry's car was on a dimly lit side street, almost an alley.  "Open the 
door," Carla ordered when they were standing beside it.  "I want to sit 
down."

"Carla, I thought you wanted air," Jerry said, exasperated.  "Sitting in 
the car is the last thing you should be doing."

In a moment, he found himself with his keys out, opening the passenger 
door.  "Not the front," Carla said.  Nobody sits in the front: too 
uncomfortable."

Jerry eyed her suspiciously.  "Carla, you said you just wanted to sit and 
talk," he said. "No funny business," he warned as he slipped in after 
her.

Carla sat with her hands folded primly on her lap; she took a deep 
breath.  "So...what do you think of my friend?" she finally asked.

"I don't know," Jerry shrugged.  "She seems nice; I hardly got to talk to 
her though."

"But do you think she's good looking?" Carla asked.

"Sure, I guess so." Jerry sounded uncomfortable.

"You can be honest with me, Jer," Carla reached over and stroked the back 
of his neck.  "I can take it.  Tell me if you think she's cute."

"Well...sure...she's cute Carla," Jerry said.  "Whatever you say."

Carla stopped rubbing his neck. "It's not what I say, Jerry; I want to 
know what you think.  I saw you checking her out, out of the corner of 
your eye, when you though I wasn't watching," she said and tugged on some 
of the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Ouch!  OK, you caught me!  She's good looking Carla.  What else do you 
want me to say?"

"Tell me..." Carla's voice was suddenly pitched several degrees lower, a 
sultry tone that made goosebumps break out on Jerry's skin.  "Would you 
fuck her?"

"What?!" 

"You heard me..." Carla was leaning closer. The air in the car seemed to 
have gotten very still all of a sudden.  "Would you fuck her?"

"What kind of question is that Carla?"  Jerry protested.

"Come on now," she cooed.  "You're a lawyer' you're supposed to be able 
to handle difficult questions Jerry."  Her left hand was rubbing the 
front of his chest.  "Just pretend you're on the stand, counselor."

"This isn't fair; there's nothing I can say to that..." He tried to brush 
her hand off his chest.  "I thought we were just going to talk Carla," he 
said.  

Both her hands were on his thighs now, and she laid her head on his 
chest.  "Hey, I'm part Italian," she said.  "We talk with our hands 
sometimes.  But you're dodging the question counselor.  I might have to 
hold you in contempt," she mocked.

"What was the question?" he asked weakly.  Carla was stroking up and down 
the insides of his thighs.  

"Non responsive!"  She leaned over and gently nipped him on the ear while 
finding the softness of his balls through his pants.  "I'm going to have 
to hold you in contempt after all."

"OK, OK, I'll answer," he gasped, feeling powerless to stop his growing 
erection.  "But you have to promise not to hold it against me." He looked 
Carla in the eye.

"Of course not," she said, still fondling his balls.  "Now tell me: do 
you think Kozue is sexy?  Would you fuck her?"

Jerry eyed her.  "I hope this is a rhetorical question Carla." 

Carla smartly yanked down his zipper.  "I have enough of your lawyerly 
stall tactics" she hissed, fumbling at his fly.

"Stop it Carla!"  Jerry grabbed her wrist.  "I'll answer.  OK, I admit 
it: in an ideal world, I mean if I hadn't met you, I probably would...you 
know...do it; or at least I'd want to.  She's cute; what else can I say?"

"Do what, counselor?"  Carla had found the shaft of his hard cock, 
straining against his underwear.  "We have to get your exact words into 
the record, so that you can't deny it later."

"Why are you doing this?" Jerry relaxed his grip on Carla's wrist.

"Just say it and I'll stop."  She had the head of his cock lightly 
pinched between her thumb and forefinger through his underpants.

"Oh...god..." he moaned.  "Yes, I'd fuck her Carla, if it would make you 
happy."

"You think she's cute?"  She found the opening to his fly and freed his 
hot, engorged cock, felt it burning in her hand.

"Mm hmm; yes!  I thought you were going to stop," he protested, without 
much conviction.

"Do you really want me to, now?" she asked, letting her cool fingertips 
play up and down the upright and throbbing shaft of his cock.

"No..no..." he moaned.  "I mean yes!"  His head had fallen against the 
back of the seat, only to spring upright again when he realized what he 
had said.  "What if someone comes along, and..."

"The only person who's coming is you," Carla cut him off, giving him a 
light squeeze.  "Besides, you can't go anywhere like this."  She tugged 
on him.  "Now just lie back and endure your sentence," she said, pushing 
him back with her free hand.  "Think about Kozue, if you want...fucking 
that cute little body of hers.  Mmm, that makes you hard; I can feel it."

"Carla!"  

"Shh..."

Jerry's cock felt hot and thick in her hand, and when Carla squeezed it, 
it felt alive, like chained animal surging at its restraints.  She placed 
her thumb over the opening and let her fingers delicately play along the 
soft underside.  He swelled under her fingers until she finally released 
her thumb and slid her hand all the way to the base of his cock where she 
began milking him with the firm even strokes she knew her preferred.

Jerry was easily aroused, however Carla knew it would take patience on 
her part to make him come.  His cock needed long, steady and sustained 
attention before it would give up its load.  She let her hand move on its 
own while her mind wandered back towards the club, imagining what Kozue 
and Steven were up to at that moment.  She conjured up the image of them 
dancing, close together.  Steven's hand was on her ass; Carla could 
almost feel the firm flesh herself.  Kozue had a cute ass, flat, with 
just a hint of roundness to it.  She imagined them somewhere else, 
kissing deeply; Steven had his hands on her waist, his tongue was in her 
mouth.  Carla thought about Kozue's dainty, feminine tongue entwined with 
Steven's.  Now Kozue was holding a cock in her hands, thick and obscenely 
purple against her white skin; it looked so fat between her slender 
fingers.  The cock was pushing between her breasts, its dark head 
rhythmically appearing and disappearing between them.  Kozue's lips were 
slightly parted while the swollen head of it blindly butted against her 
cheek in search of her mouth's soft opening.  She had a shy, wide eyed 
expression on her face as her lips encircled the tip; she opened wider 
and slid her mouth lower along the thick shaft.  Carla imagined her cute, 
rounded little nose bumping into the flat of his stomach as she took all 
of him.  The cock was thrusting in and out of her, making gentle fucking 
motions against her face.  Frozen in time, a thick jet of come, twisted