Randy Randy 2

Author's note: This is a romantic satire, y'know. Don't take it too seriously. All sexual activity involves modern humans of age 18+. Nobody is murdered, not even those happily fucked to death. Feedback is appreciated.

----- randy Randy -----

I am Randy. That is both my name and my condition. (Sort of like my cousin's sweet daughter Torchy, who is always in heat. But I digress.) I am married to tall dark Yolanda. We have been together for some years. She is pretty fucking hot.

But why did I bother getting married? That is a good question.

Marriage is questionable for me, because I am a special kind of guy. There is even an erotica trope about me, the

Pornomancer

.

The

PM

is the guy they make pr0n flicks about, the guy you read about in erotica and XXX comix and fantasies. The

PM

is the natural babe magnet. He is the fucking magic man. You know about the guy.

The

PM

walks down the street, and women attach themselves to him. He enters an elevator, and women drop to their knees while zipping open his fly. He jumps into a swimming pool, and girls drag him to the deep end and slide their thongs off. The

PM

attends a PTA meeting, and mothers push their daughters at him to deflower. He lies down for a nap, and awakens from a wet dream to find a mouth or vagina engulfing his cock. Such happens constantly.

In fiction, the

PM

may be a Nice Guy who does not really know that he is a deadly flame for all the female moths. He does not try to exploit the gals who chase him, and he maybe acts resigned when they catch him. When seduced yet again, he just says, "Oh lord!" or "Why me?" or "Sure, I suppose."

That is fiction. In real life, he knows exactly what he has, and he has as much fun as possible with it.

That's me. I do not know how it happened.

I am no jock, no in-crowd-er, no academic star. I was never on the school paper or yearbook or band or any teams or hi-status clubs. I just hit a hot growth spurt. Suddenly, a couple years into puberty, I was six-six with size sixteen feet and octave-span fingers. Girls decided that my height, and shoe and hand size, meant my cock was likely large. Yes, they were right. But that is still no explanation.

My research says it is all about sex hormones called pheromones. Some pheromones just seem to attract the attention of members of either or both sexes.

At one level, the attraction is called "charisma".

Another level is "sex appeal".

Where I stand, it is just "fuck me".

So I spurted height-wise and hormone-wise -- and suddenly became BMOC (Big Man On Campus). Every girl seemed to want me. Seemed like every girl had me. I was not especially nice nor emotionally mature nor otherwise a long-term catch. I was just almost every girl's favorite boy-toy, a cock-and-tongue show. I came on command.

-----

I was first noticed by the girl next door, no shit.

Lilith was the usual pain-in-the-ass neighbor girl all my life, conspiring against me with my sisters, mocking my boy-cooties. She started growing tits, but I did not really notice. Then *I* grew tall, with balls. And she was magnetized by me.

I was walking home, pissed off. My jeans were just one month old, and were already too short for my fast-growing legs. Having ankles stick out from under the pant legs is embarrassing like a squeaky voice. I wanted to change into shorts and sandals, soonest, and dump my books too.

"Hey Randy, how's things?" Lilith called. I had not heard her sneak up behind me.

"Err yeah, hi there Lil, everything's okay, sure." I was still awkward and shy.

"You doing anything this afternoon? How would you like to come over to our pool? My parents won't be back until late tonight. We'll have it all to ourselves."

"Ah yeah sure, that'd be great. I just have to go home and get a swimsuit first."

"Oh, you won't need a swimsuit. Just come as you are. That's what I'll be doing."

Lilith pulled up her blouse and bra, revealing firm bare breasts with large brown aueroles and stiff protruding nipples. My "awkward and shy" phase passed quickly.

We went through her house and undressed and jumped in the pool. Lil could not keep her hands off my quickly-enlarging cock. That afternoon, she introduced me to blow jobs, and tit fucks, and eventually PIV (Penis-In-Vagina) intercourse, my first. She seemed happy. *I* certainly had a ball. Lots of sticky balling, actually.

We had hot fun in her pool and bedroom and many other areas of her house over the next week or so. I filled her with my hot creamy spunk, time after wet time. Yeah!

Then my sisters got into the act.

Dora and Lora were twins, a year older than me, already attending junior college while living at home and continually teasing me. Lil invited them over for a cool pool session. No swimsuits, of course. This was apparently not their first time.

"Hey Randy, you're starting to look like a man," Dora said, squeezing my biceps.

Lora floated on my other side and prodded my thigh with her knee underwater. Very naked, Lora and Dora's glazed blue eyes were focused on the blurry sub-surface image of my half-masted cock. Their blonde muffs almost twitched with excitement.

Lil swam over to rescue me.

"Hey girls, he's your fucking brother, leave him alone!"

"Yeah, leave him alone for YOU, you slut!" Lora chastised.

Lil floated in front of me and grabbed my drooping dick.

"Well, it's only right! You can't have him, but *I* sure can!"

Lil dove, and swallowed my cock. Too bad she could only hold her breath for a long minute. She popped to the surface, gasping, breathed deeply, and re-submerged.

"Hey, that looks hot! I'm gonna try it myself," said Dora. "Me too," chimed Lora.

The three girls fought over who would suck my dick next. I took advantage of their competitive distraction to leave the pool, grab my shorts and sandals, and dash back home. I came through the kitchen door and ran into my mother, just off work.

"Hi Mom, how's it going? Have a good day at the office? Write any good memos?"

"Hey there Randy. Yes, everything is fine. I'll get another promotion, and a nice fat bonus. We'll have to go out to celebrate. My treat!"

Mom looked appreciatively at my tall, muscular body clad only in sandals and denim cutoffs. She reached and squeezed the same biceps that Dora had prodded earlier.

"Oh Randy, you really look like a man now. I bet all the girls will be chasing you soon." She stroked my arm, my bare side and back, and down to my strong butt. I felt a litle bit like a prime breeding bull being inspected at a livestock show.

"Yeah, they've already started. Say Mom, can I get some new jeans soon? I already outgrew these from last month. I'm getting tired of looking like a scarecrow."

"You *are* growing fast, aren't you? Yes, we'll get you new pants, and some good clothes too, so you can look respectable when you go out to after-school events."

Mom rubbed my ass some more. "Yes, we definitely need to get you into a suit."

I thanked her and ran to my room to change and cool down. What, have all the damn females around me gone totally sex-nutz? This was going to be a *long* summer.

-----

Like I said, I was no a jock, but I sure appreciated female jocks. I *could* say that I worked my way through a few student sports teams, but the reality was more like, the teams worked their way through *me*. Swimming, field hockey, soccer, track and field, softball, tennis, all those teams sweatily suffocated me. Yummy.

Then the cheerleaders tried me out, ignoring the football neanderthals' pissant threats. Sure, I had to dodge a few disgruntled guys who thought I was stealing their cheer-cunts. Ha! They came willingly. At least I didn't need to outrun a fullback.

Mediterranean-heritage beauty Sophia stopped me as I was leaving campus.

"Hey there Randy, me and the girls are doing some cheer practice this evening. wanna come watch? We could use you to judge how we're doing and all, okay?"

Sophia's dark eyes gazed at me from her almond face framed by long black hair. Her thick nipples gazed at me through her almost-not-there tee. Her ultra-mini was suspended over long toned legs, twitching nervously as she almost sucked a thumb.

Sophia captained the cheer squad. I knew her quarterback boyfriend was mostly for show -- he was more interested in one of the golf guys. Sophia was a treat.

"Sure, I can postpone my date tonight. Where are you doing the practice?"

"We'll be at my place. We'll work up a sweat in my back yard, then we'll all jump in the pool to cool off. You don't have to bother bringing trunks or anything. My folks will be out for the evening, too."

"Okay, I'll see you there." You bet I was there, and I saw *all* of the cheer squad. Fucked them all, too, one and two and three at a time. Life was good. Love was athletic.

My 'action' was not limited to students and family. Female teachers touched me. Cute shop clerks fawned over me. Women passing on the sidewalk slowed to watch me. Society ladies held my arm at civic affairs. Policewomen constantly pulled my ID.

More than a few gals dragged me into secluded nooks in otherwise public places, bared their butts, and bent over for me. Many had to stand on something to get their pussies up high enough for my tall body. I stood in many a street gutter, knees bent, while women stood on the curb and aimed their pussies upward to me.

Damn, they all just threw themselves at me! And I was not one to refuse any good offer. As I said, I am Randy, and I am always randy, with an almost instant hardon.

-----

I had a good life: high school, community college, university, my internships, post-grad work, an MBA and a doctorate in economics, and then a well-paying job with a major management consulting firm. Top of the world, Ma! And no entangling alliances to hinder me.

Oh, I had my usual fun. I mostly shopped online so as to not disrupt too many retail establishments. But sometimes I walked into shops catering to young women, just for kicks, just to see how many would follow me out. I emptied some stores.

I could easily clobber just about any social gathering. But that kind of game was pretty juvenile. I had learned to stay circumspect and not be a shit-disturber. I just lived the ultimate swinging-bachelor life, but as quietly as possible.

Things changed when my firm's super-boss called me into her office.

"Hello, Dr Ronk. Please take a seat. Would you like some coffee or tea?"

If the stern MILF redhead CEO had not been so totally self-disciplined, I knew that her offer would have been, "Coffee, tea, or me?" She devoured me with her eyes.

"Thank you, Ms Weibel. I take my ginseng tea with rose honey, please. What's up!"

The stacked CEO gestured, "make it so" to her assistant Alan, then dismissed the high-strung tight-muscled young man and returned her full attention to me.

"Dr Ronk -- can I call you Randy? I'm Eileen -- Randy, you have a very bright future with us here. Your performance has been superb. You're already on the fast track for a full partnership. You can expect extraordinary compensation, huge bonuses, a company Maserati, and your own luxury stall in the partners' lavatory."

"Thanks for your praise, Ms... err, I mean Eileen. I'm glad you're satisfied."

Pretty-boy poutingly poured my tea and left the sparse office. The door locked behind him.

"There's only one thing that could impede your path, Randy. You are single. I know you have a reputation as a ladies' man, but it's a very quiet and well-protected reputation. That's good, but not enough. Our clients insist that our firm operates with the highest moral standards. And nothing says 'moral' like a good marriage."

Eileen leaned forward, elbows on desk, chin in hands, staring intently at me.

"In other words, I need a trophy wife, is that it?"

"Precisely right. And a very visibly loyal trophy wife, with your own loyalty also on display. You are only to appear in media stories with your loyal wife, nobody else. Your sex videos will not be leaked to the internet. You will not be sued for paternity or alienation of affections or disorderly conduct or any other unseemly behavior. Keep your schlong-work private, and you'll have my desk before long."

Eileen leaned back, hands behind her head, thrusting out her suit-clad breasts.

"Sure, if you insist. Anything for the firm! Do I have a timetable, a deadline?"

Eileen leaned forward again and pointed well-manicured fingers at me.

"This is an absolute secret. Tell NOBODY. You can expect a partnership within the year. You should have been married for six months before then. So, get a move on!"

I finished my ginseng brew and read the wet tea leaves. They promised success.

Her auburn hair swirling as she moved, Eileen's cocked head seemed to indicate the interview was over. I stood up.

"Thank you, Eileen. I have some relationships I need to review right away."

Eileen stood also, walked around her desk, stood before me, and put her hands on my chest. Her jade-green eyes seemed to glow with laser light.

"Oh, who am I trying to kid?!? I want you! I've wanted you ever since I first saw you! I know I can't have you in public, not with my husband and children around. But I want you here, now, in private, all mine! Fuck me now, Randy! Fuck me!"

Eileen pulled her suit jacket and blouse over her head, revealing fine large firm breasts unhindered by a bra. She pulled her suit skirt down till it puddled around her feet. She wore four-inch heels and sheer black stockings held by an ebony garter belt -- and nothing else. Her muff was a trim dark arrow pointing downward.

Eileen bent over her desk, spread her legs, presented her ass to me for easy access, and looked over her shoulder at me.

"Come on Randy, don't make me beg any more! Fuck me! Fuck me fast and hard!"

I would have quickly obliged even if she were not my employer giving me orders. I dropped my grey trousers and red boxers and quickly stroked my large cock to iron hardness. Eileen's pussy was already soaking and dripping. I easily slid into her.

"Oh shit Randy, that feels great!" she panted, her ass cheeks flushing bright red.

I pounded her at various rates till she came six times. I was not yet at the edge.

"Holy fuck Randy, that's incredible! Take my ass now, I beg of you, pound my ass!"

I scooped up a handful of juices dripping from her soggy treasure and smeared it into her anus, working two and then three fingers in deeply. I pulled my stiff prick from her drenched vagina, lined up on her rosy star, and slowly pushed in.

"Oh fuck oh shit oh god oh oh oh holy fuck oh fuck oh oh..." Eileen moaned.

My circumcised mushroom head popped past her anal sphincter. I was in! Like Flynn!

I bottomed-out a couple times, fully engaged. I slid in and out of Eileen's tight turd tunnel faster, harder, using her large tits as handholds to pull her body to me. She held herself off the desk with one hand and frigged her pussy with the other, strumming her clit frantically as she ascended the ladder of ecstasy.

"OH FUCK YES YES YES!!" Eileen yelled as our blurred motions approached ignition.

Eileen screamed incomprehensibly. I grunted and came, shooting firestorms of hot creamy jiz deep into her colon and beyond. I kept pounding till we both collapsed.

"Wow," Eileen gasped, "you did very well on your performance evaluation, Randy. But we might need to have fresh appraisals once or twice a week. Very confidential appraisals, of course. I'll schedule you personally; no need to bother Alan."

We cleaned up in her in-suite shower, fucked a couple more times, then dressed and resumed our activities. Alan 'accidentally' dropped and broke my teacup. Jealous?

-----

I had a new job task: find and keep a wife. Quickly.

My problem was my past. I had a history with women. To me, women were mainly an endless supply of pussy, as cheap and disposable as the condoms I sometimes used. My whole mindset envisioned women as just bargain-rate sperm repositories. But I could not have a disposable wife -- I have read that they tend to be expensive.

So I needed to 1) change my attitudes, and 2) find a non-disposable spouse. Right.

I tried various approaches to changing my attitudes. I speed-read all the books I could find on attitude adjustment. Not just bartending manuals, but pop-psych, and advice columns, and internet pundits. That took almost an entire week. I had deep half-hour talks with various therapists and counselors. But even with intensive self-hypnosis, I couldn't shake the truth, that I was God's Gift To Women.

I talked to biochemists and experimental physiologists -- could my pheromones be tamed, muted, masked, sheathed? Could my babe magnetism be reduced? Sadly, no. Some female chemists were particularly resistant to the idea. They WANTED me!

One interview session was fairly typical.

"Dr Ronk, I cannot do this. It would be unethical, immoral. I won't change you!"

Cute little Dr Ellen Belen was nearly in tears as she considered my request.

"It would be a crime against humanity, a perversion of God's Will. No, I can't!"

She ran from behind her desk and grabbed me, held me tightly, and started sobbing.

"Oh Dr Ronk, I know this is wrong, but I must have you! Fuck me! Fuck me now!"

Damn, too many interviews went like this.

I was afraid I would be reduced to wearing an Iron Man-type suit, acting like a giant condom, to keep my pheromones from circulating. No, I didn't go quite that far. But I ended up with something like it. More about that later.

Finding and keeping a spouse would be trickier. Finding candidates was no problem -- virtually the entire human female population of Earth was available to me, all ready, willing, and maybe able. Any of them would gladly devote or sell herself to exclusively be my sex slave. My wish was their command, literally.

Natalie stalked me. The blond waited outside my door to throw herself at my feet.

"Randy, stop! Please please please! Take me! My life is empty without you, babe! Save me from my loneliness! I'll do anything for you, whatever you say, ANYTHING!"

I was in a bad mood that day. I told her to go fuck herself. And she did. Loudly. With a hairbrush handle. Got kinda messy there...

I brushed her nakedness aside, the same as I'd done with Julie, and Sylvie, and Samantha, and the Grzelewski triplets, and the ballet academy girls. The ladies'

karate team was harder to get past. Damn, I better avoid martial arts schools!

No, the tricky part was in finding a woman who was attracted to me, who would stay loyal to me, but who would NOT be driven to strip and rape me constantly. Y'know, a wife who could be with me in public, and not commit indecency offences.

After a whole month of intensive searching, I found Yolanda.

-----

Yolanda Branalho was tall, dark, and rather pretty, her finely-chiseled features refelecting her mixed Portugeuse, African and Native American heritage. She had a classical education and spoke several languages. She worked as a fashion reporter for a women's-wear magazine. She was elegant. She cleaned up very nicely.

And she was perpetually surrounded by suitors of all genders and persuasions.

Yes, Yolanda also had charisma, appeal, animal magnetism... PHEROMONES! Rather wide spectrum pheromones. She attracted everybody. And she was very very picky.

I met Yolanda by accident, or circumstance, or providence, or fate, or whatever. Her publisher wanted to pay my firm an ungodly amount of money to authoritatively tell the publisher what they already knew about how to manage their business. That is what management consultants do. We are very expensive security blankets.

I was assigned to run the project. I met the publisher's representatives at our offices, then again at their corporate HQ. And there I encountered their star fashion reporter, the most elegant person in the building. It was Yolanda.