by Celeste
Sue didn't know whether to laugh, to cry, or to scream as she gazed at the
e-mail message on her monitor: "People like you should be put in jail. Why
do you want to shove smut into the minds of innocent little children? I hope
the FBI tracks you down and throws your filthy body and mind into prison."
"What is the reason for this kind of outrage?" thought Sue. Fortunately,
Sue's professional life was going about as well as it had ever gone. But this
e-mail message pretty much epitomized both her literary life and her sex life
lately. To use the common metaphor - they sucked!
It was hard to put a finger one what ailed her. Sue was a world renowned
author of sex stories, which she published through alt.sex.stories, an
Internet newsgroup frequented by a wide variety of readers. Sue's were among
the most popular stories on the newsgroup. Her fantasies were rich and well
developed, not the "buckets of cum" and "wannafuck" stuff that youthful
readers seemed so fond of posting. Indeed, that was perhaps a major part of
Sue's sexual ennui. The simple fact was that it was hard to find sexual
experiences in real life that lived up to Sue's fantasies.
Sue clicked with her mouse a few times, and the another of the hostile
e-mail messages appeared on her screen. It was from a man in Nebraska who
refused to give his name. "My son read your story entitled Slippery When
Wet.. I found out about it when I overhead him talking to his friends about
'banging some woman's **** in the whirlpool at the YMCA after the place was
closed.' I searched his desk and found several disks full of smut, including
stories about the Junior High Neighborhood Sluts, Gang Bang Virgins, and
lurid stories about rape. I read your story, and it was disgusting. I am
sending a message to the president of American Online, requesting that your
privileges to use that service be suspended. I am also sending a copy of
this message to my senators and to my congressman. I will take whatever
steps are necessary to drive you off the Internet."
"Good grief!" thought Sue. "I don't even like most of those other stories.
My stories are harmless fantasies. The worst thing they would do to the kid
would be to make him come in his pants." She sighed deeply. "And he
probably already does that anyway.
Then there was Patrice, a woman at work about ten years older than Sue, who
was upset because her husband was "getting horny all the time." They used to
have a quiet, wholesome life, Patrice said; but lately her husband had turned
into a regular sex maniac. She said Don was now interested in nothing but
sex; and it had something to do with those perverted sex stories he was
constantly reading on his computer. Little did Patrice realize that the
person to whom she was spilling her guts was the author of some of her
husband's favorite stories. At the end of their most recent conversation,
all Sue could think to do was to mumble, "Well, at least Don wants to fulfill
his fantasies with you instead of with someone else." That had ended the
conversation.
Sue glanced at the headline of the magazine article on her desk: "Cyberporn
Smut Ruins Lives of Children!" The article described how easily kids could
get sex stories and pictures out of cyberspace; and it even described alleged
instances of adults seducing children via computer.
As she tossed the article aside, Sue became aware of another of her current
problems: a ringing sound inside her head. Right now it was only background
noise, and sometimes the sounds could be pleasant; but at other times
(usually a day or so after she posted or reposted a story) the ringing became
a veritable cacophony that drove her to distraction.
As she thought about these problems, Sue sighed deeply and uttered a barely
audible murmur: "I'll never write an erotic story again. Dear God, I wish I
had never written an erotic story at all."
Suddenly, Sue was aware that there was someone else in the room with her.
She spun around in her chair and was alarmed to see standing just inside the
locked door a beautiful dark haired woman. She was dressed in diaphanous
clothing that Sue associated with statues she had seen while cavorting in the
Aegean Islands. The woman exuded a sensuous sexuality that made the room
come alive. "Who are you?" asked Sue. "And what are you doing here?"
"I'm Celeste. We've corresponded through alt.sex.stories. And I'm here to
help you."
"You're Celeste?" gasped Sue. "The goddess of alt.sex.stories?"
"Well," replied the beautiful apparition. "I've been called that; but I'm
more like an angel."
"You're as beautiful as I imagined you'd be," said Sue, as she continued to
wonder what in the world was happening.
"And you're almost as beautiful as you say you are in your stories," replied
Celeste. After a pause, Celeste continued. "To be honest, I'm not actually
a full angel yet. I've met most of the requirements, but I still have to do
one more good deed. I've been sent here as sort of your guardian angel.
That bit about wishing you had never written an erotic story began with
'Dear God.' That constitutes a prayer. The Boss was upset by your comment,
and she sent me here to help you get over your malaise or angst or whatever
you want to call it."
"Your boss?" replied Sue. When Celeste responded by merely folding her arms
and raising her eyes toward the heavens, Sue began to get the message. "I've
always heard your Boss referred to as 'he' or 'him,'" she said.
"Actually, my Boss is neither a he nor a she," answered Celeste. "I just
prefer the feminine pronoun, because so many men are assholes. Men write
stories on a.s.s. that degrade women and describe harm to little boys and
girls. But this isn't a theological essay. It's a sex story. Can I get on
with what I came here for?"
Celeste then explained to Sue the purpose of her visit. Her Boss, as she
liked to put it, was concerned that Sue was going to make a bad career
choice. She had sent Celeste to help Sue get her priorities in order.
"Let's take the case of your coworker who is upset about the horny husband,
said Celeste. Let's see what would happen if she responded just a little
differently, as she did earlier tonight." Celeste pointed toward the wall,
and suddenly it came alive, showing a clear image of Patrice at home with
Don. The children were snuggly in their beds; Patrice was watching
television; and Don was sitting at his computer terminal, with a shit-eating
grin on his face.
"Wow!" exclaimed Sue. "Are you the Ghost of Christmas Present?"
"Don't be silly," replied Celeste. "That's a different story. We're on the
information superhighway. What you're seeing is a combination of virtual
reality and mystical transcendence. I like to call it virtuous reality."
While Sue and Celeste watched, Don expressed a note of satisfied finality as
he struck a key on his keyboard and the computer went into its shut down
mode. He mumbled softly, "Slippery When Wet! That was a hot story." He
smiled as he moved across the room to where his wife was watching a rerun of
Cheers. Our celestial voyeurs could see that there was already a slight
bulge in the crotch of his pants.
"Is that a good show, honey?" Don asked as he sat down on the couch next to
Patrice.
"It's OK. But you certainly look happy to see me," Patrice replied,
glancing at the little tent between his legs."
Don was obviously surprised at his wife's receptive response, but why ask
why? "Have I piqued your interest?" he asked.
"I hope you can pique more than my interest," she answered, as pulled
herself close to him and pressed the entire length of her upper body up
against his. She kissed him hard, pushing her tongue gently but deeply into
his mouth, where it playfully joined his tongue. He was taken completely by
surprise; she had become the aggressor, as she rubbed her breasts into his
chest and then slowly lowered herself down his body, unbuttoning his shirt
and pulling it to the side. She moved her body slightly away from his and
quickly managed to remove her own blouse and bra. She faced him topless,
with a devilish grin on her face. She moved closer again and let her naked
nipples drag over the rough material of his shirt and pants.
She slid off the couch and kissed her way downward, until her head was even
with his crotch. Without unzipping him, she kissed at the pinnacle of the
bulge in his pants. When she withdrew her mouth briefly, it appeared that
her moist, hot breath had dampened his pants; but then it became obvious that
the damp spot at the edge of his fly more likely had arisen from an internal
source. She unzipped his pants, and the hard cock immediately burst forth,
dripping precum and straining to pull upwards. She immediately encased it in
her eagerly receptive mouth.
The taste of the salty liquid seemed to energize her even more. When she
removed her mouth to take a breath, his cock forcefully flipped upwards
against her chin and then bounced up to the side of her face. She pulled back
and kissed the tip of his cock once and then fastened her lips around the
shaft and sucked in hard, pulling her lips down the length of the cock.
After a few seconds of sensuous sucking, Patrice withdrew her head and said
simply, "Let's get out of these clothes." In a few seconds both were
completely naked, with Patrice kneeling at the side of the couch, on which
Don sat with his eyes closed in blissful rapture as her suction pulled her
lips all the way into the hair at the base of his cock. Her nose nestled
comfortably into that hair, and she breathed in the exciting, musky scent of
his sexual arousal. She fondled his balls with one hand and caressed his
buttocks with the other. His entire cock was throbbing and dancing in the hot
cavern of her mouth. It was obvious from the impassioned look on his face
that he really liked what she was doing.
He started to push her away, but instead of pulling her mouth off his cock,
she clamped down harder and then started to move her head back and forth, so
that she was truly fucking his cock with her mouth. On each upstroke, as she
brought her head away from his prick, Patrice let her tongue slurp in a
circle around the cock's crown, and poked lightly into his pisshole. She had
his hard long cock fucking deep into her sucking mouth, and she juggled his
balls in her palm while she toyed with the sensitive spot near his asshole.
In return, he simply caressed her naked back and shoulders. Patrice seemed
to have sex organs in her upper back, as she timed her own movements in
response to his tender caresses. Both of them were obviously hot from
exertion and lust. Don's eyes clamped shut and his face became twisted. He
was panting quickly, and quiet moans came from his mouth.
Patrice was pumping so hard with her head in his groin that her hair was
flipping around her cheeks and onto his thighs. Just as it seemed that he was
going to come, she drew back her head a few inches from his, and fondled his
shaft with both hands. Her saliva mixed with more of his precum to supply an
excellent natural lubricant, and she squeezed hard with both hands.
The first jet of his cum shot out from the tip of his cock. She hungrily
moved her mouth closer to his cock again and tried to catch as much as she
could as it splattered over her outstretched tongue. When she closed her
mouth to swallow and savor his juices, the next two jets hit her on the nose
and chin. She nestled forward and rubbed her face into his still throbbing
and drooling cock.
As they cuddled in the afterglow on the couch, Don said to Patrice,
"Sometimes I forget how much I love you."
"Me too," she replied contentedly. She paused for a a few seconds with her
head against his chest, while she listened to his heartbeat. "And don't
forget: you owe me an orgasm, which I'll accept in the bedroom. And remind
me to send flowers to a friend at the office."
Sue was both relieved and impressed. She had noticed that the couple's
sexual acrobatics had started out almost as a verbatim script from the story
Don had been reading, but it had diverged sharply as their own feelings came
more heavily into play. As the images of Don and Patrice faded, the wall
gradually turned back into an ordinary surface, decorated only by the
numerous plaques Sue had won for some of her many accomplishments in her
professional life and by a framed photograph of her with a former governor of
Arkansas.
A remaining thought lingered in Sue's mind. Just before the images began to
fade, she had become aware of the sound of church bells ringing. There was
no church near Sue's house that would be ringing its bells at this hour of
the night, and so she asked Celeste if she also had heard the sound.
"Certainly," Celeste replied. "The bells were my idea. They're part of a
tribute to you. Every time somebody has an orgasm as a result of one of your
stories, a bell rings. Do you like it?"
"I thought bells rang whenever an angel got its wings."
"Angels don't get wings any more. That's old fashioned. So the bell thing
was available, and I put in this suggestion for you. The Boss is really
impressed with your work, and she bought the idea. Do you like it?"
Sue wanted to be careful not to offend her celestial visitor. "Well, it
really is a beautiful thought. But I've had these constant ringing
sensations in my head. I thought I was going crazy, but now at least I
understand why I'm hearing them."
Celeste was crestfallen. She had meant well, but she had botched things up
again. She would never become a full angel this way! Suddenly she
brightened up. "How about if we just change the rules a little. Right now,
we're giving you credit for making people horny and happy and jerking off by
themselves or for just being warm and happy and thereby being a lot more fun
to be with and thereby getting themselves laid a lot more often."
"Are you sure you're really Celeste?" asked Sue. "I've read all her
reviews, and she has never said 'thereby' in any of them. I watch for that
sort of thing."
Celeste ignored Sue and continued, "We've also been giving you multiple
bells for multiple orgasms." Celeste struck herself with the palm of her
hand on her forehead in an expression of amazement. "Holy cumshot! Ann
Douglas alone could be making you deaf after she reads just one of your
stories. This is almost as bad as when I invoked the Hemingway rule and let
the earth move for Deidre and Tammy Ng whenever they had really good sex.
They almost wiped out a major city before I realized my mistake."
Celeste paused, and then spoke more calmly, "OK, we'll change the rules.
From now on you get bells only for really hot orgasms with loving partners
as a direct result of reading your stories. And one bell per partner per
session." She seemed satisfied but added, "The rest we'll work into
firework displays or something."
Sue smiled. "Thanks," she said. "That will help a lot."
There was a brief moment of silence. "Sometimes I think orgasms are
overrated anyway," Sue added anticlimactically. But then she realized that
this was not a Tom Swift story and that it would be very dangerous for her to
match wits with someone as sexy and intelligent as Celeste.
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