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.
