She needed to sit down. She didn't know if she really wanted to leave. She had no idea of what she would do next or what she would say next.
Jane had always had been in control of her sexual impulses, never confused. She was no prude. She had never shied away from conversation that dealt with sex. She had been sexually active since her freshman year in college. So why was she suddenly so uncomfortable? Not really uncomfortable, more: restless, on edge. And her confusion was about nothing else but about sex.
Jane was sure she could smell the odor of sex and wondered where it was coming from, what it was. But then she suddenly realized that it was her own pussy juice she was smelling. Her panties were soaked, wet through and through by the pussy juice flowing unbidden from the recess of her cunt.
"You do wish to leave?" Fanderpeice reminded her.
Jane nodded yes but a second later regretted the nod. "No," she suddenly blurted out, "let's continue the interview." The 'no' was issued without forethought. It was as if Jane was in some sort of hypnotic condition, acting but not really in control of her own actions.
"Good," said Fanderpeice "I think you deserve to know whatever it is you wish to know."
. He kept his hand on her arm and escorted Jane to the couch she had been sitting on earlier, but this time the Quinn was not in her direct line of sight. She sat and Fanderpeice sat opposite her, on the same chair he had occupied before, but, somehow, he seemed to be a lot closer than he had been earlier. "I think it time for us to begin. Do you wish to take notes?"
"I don't need to take notes," Jane replied.
"Yes, over ninety percent accurate recall. Your dossier featured that."
Jane was surprised. He had a dossier on her. What else?
"The sexual activity here is not why this establishment exists," he said.
"What?
"What I said," Fanderpeice replied.
"But I don't understand." This was no good, Jane thought. She was violating one of her basic rules for interviewing, let an interviewee speak when he (or she) was speaking. Do not interrupt. She stopped and waited.
Fanderpeice moved the chair forward so that now he was no more than a few inches away from Jane. He continued, "Sex is one of our methods for helping our members. It is also a main determinant for choosing our members.
" We use two criteria for choosing those we might wish to have as members of our group. Criteria one: That they be people with extraordinary talent and abilities. Obviously, you fit that criteria. Criteria two: That they have suppressed an essential part of their sexual nature because they believe the pull of libidinous pleasure, if they allowed it full expression, would interfere with the full expression of their talents and abilities."
"You think I don't get enough sex?" Jane asked.
"Oh, no, we don't think you don't get enough sex, only that you have refused to allow a free and full expression of your libidinous impulses."
"I don't think you understand or know me as well as you believe you do," she said.
"But we do," Fanderpeice said. "Stand up, please."
Jane hesitated for a moment, then stood.
Fanderpeice, still sitting, but now only inches from Jane, his head level with her stomach, leaned forward. He stretched his large hands out and gently, but firmly, held her at the hips.
"What are you doing?"
He said nothing. He gently pulled her hips forward. He leaned his head forwards and delivered a kiss to her stomach, just below her belly button, his chin pressed just above her pubic bone.
"I really do think we ought to get back to the interview," she said. She said it automatically, out of some vague notion that it was what she ought to say. A flow of lugubrious honey-juice soaked the inner lining of her vagina. Her legs were firm on the ground but seemed suddenly to be super sensitive. She could feel her skirt brushing against her legs, the edge of the couch cushion as it touched her calves.
She felt his lips against her stomach.
She felt his chin against atop her pubic bone.
"Really? You want to return to the interview?" Fanderpeice replied.
She felt the breath of air expelled from his mouth as he spoke. A shiver ran from her stomach up to her throat. What she was feeling below her stomach she didn't want to know.
Did she want to return to the interview? "No," Jane gestured weakly. The powerful, diligent, unstoppable Jane Bederson the world knew and admired disappeared. Turning her head weakly left to right, right to left signifying "No," whatever she wanted, it wasn't to stop him from what he was doing.
Fanderpeice took his hands from Jane's waist. He stood. Slowly.
Her hips felt bereft, empty. She needed his hand's firm grip. Every fiber of her skin was alive, the nub of her breast tender, extended. She was breathing hard, her mouth slightly open. Her eyes looked straight ahead, but she saw nothing but the side of his nose, his freshly shaved cheek. She lifted her hands, put them around his waist, and pulled him closer.
A second, maybe two seconds, later Jane stood with her spine against the high back of the couch she had been sitting on. She was facing Fanderpeice whose body was pressed against hers. She felt his penis press against her tremblingly alive pubic bone. His organ felt gigantic and hard.
It felt so hard. She pulled Fanderpeice even closer to her. She felt his cock pressing against her vagina. It was so hard. She felt the tip of his rock of an organ press against her perineum and then move slowly along her vulva to her swollen labia, up towards her tingling, engorged clitoris. She could feel his prick through the material of his trousers, through the material of her dress, through the material of her thin panties. Amazingly, her senses were so alive that Jane could feel his tool well enough to tell that he was circumcised.
Jane had been excited before, often. But the word 'excited' didn't even come close to describing what she was feeling at this moment. She was ready to rip off her clothes. She was ready to tear Fanderpeice's shirt off, pull his pants down. She was prepared to get on her knees and to stuff his prick into her mouth. She wanted his hard cock deep into her cunt. Really there were no specifics. She couldn't tell exactly what it was that she did want. But she did know that she wanted sex. She wanted to be naked. She wanted him to be naked. She wanted to see that glorious 8 1/2" tool that just rubbing against her cunt's engorged lips was bringing her to a state of sexual frenzy.
"The commander and I met at a convention of some sort many years ago," Fanderpeice said. Jane heard the words and briefly felt her sexual excitement ease enough for his words to enter her consciousness.
"Somehow," he continued, "we ended up in her hotel room. After hours and hours of fucking and sucking and anything else we could think of, we decided that we had broken through some barrier and that was the germinating seed for the idea that became Xanadu"
Jane had no idea of how it had happened, but as Fanderpeice spoke she realized that she was now sitting on the couch again and that Fanderpeice was slowly unbuttoning her blouse. One by one, as he spoke, he undid the buttons which ran down the front of her blouse.
When they were all opened and her blouse hung loose, she felt his arms reach inside and around to release the clasp on her bra, freeing her breasts from their confinement.
His hands were now at her skirt, loosening its ties and pulling its zipper down. He leaned forward and put his warm hand inside the band of her panties.
