Carmen's Fantasies

Finishing her creamy soup with a flourish of tongue and lips, Carmen cleansed her palate with strong, black coffee. She would have added a slender cigar to her meal's finale, but as the cafe didn't allow bad habits, she was forced to satisfy her cravings with caffeine and the crowd. The pair always stimulated her imagination, and she leaned back in her booth to observe the late afternoon diners, focusing on two women who had just taken stools at the counter.

The tallest had dark hair and was taking her pants to the limit. Though the woman was clearly a size fourteen, she had squeezed into jeans meant for a anorexic cheerleader. However, her weight was evenly distributed over her large frame, and if you liked an Amazon who could kick your boyfriend's ass, this babe would get your heart pumping. Her friend was a lean, tanned blonde with high cheek bones and tight calves that suggested she went biking as regularly as her mother went hiking with Indians. Dressed in cutoffs and an old western shirt, she spun her stool from side to side like a child who found it hard to sit still.

"All done?" the waitress asked, swinging by the professor's booth.

"Just beginning," Carmen replied. "But you can take the trash."

"And how was your soup?"

"Delicious! I even licked the bottom of the bowl!"

"Our chef will be delighted to hear that," the young woman replied. "She lives to please others, and you'll make her day. Would you like me to refill your cup?"

"Please," the professor said, finding delicious irony in the girl's phrasing.

"And can I bring you something for dessert?"

"I'll think about it for awhile," Carmen said. And this was exactly what she did, for with hot coffee and two Muses at the counter to inspire her, she was ready for a lusty stroll down Fantasy Lane. As always, she took along her favorite student.

The semester has ended and Sandy goes looking for a summer job. Although she's smart and an excellent worker, the labor market is glutted, common in a college town. But being a determined woman, she walks the streets and knocks on many doors, filling out applications until her hand cramps. But even the minimum wage positions are denied her.

"It's because of my age," she convinces herself, flumping down on a bus stop bench with the newspaper's want ads. "Now if I were twenty years younger like those two..." She stops her internal dialogue to listen to the conversation of the two girls passing by.

"I made $800 last Friday," one claims. "And so could you! Your body's better than mine, and all you've got to do is wriggle your ass and do a few lap dances."

"But I don't know if I could take off my clothes in public," the other replies. "I mean, it would make me feel so...well, cheap!"

"At $100 an hour?"

And then they are out of earshot.

Sandy feels more frustrated and angry than ever. It doesn't seem right that she's virtually unemployable while uneducated bimbos can make scads of money dancing in gentlemen's clubs. How much skill did it take to strut naked in heels in front of a lonely man? It was simply take it off and rake it in. Legal prostitution.

"What a hypocrite!" her inner voice intrudes. "If you're going to beat the moral drum, better do it softly! And quit bitching about your age, for that's not the problem, and you know it! Lots of men would love to see an older woman strip, and you'd probably make loads of money! So be honest! The only thing that's holding you back is your stupid, false modesty!"

Ignoring the lecture, Sandy scans the want ads till a listing catches her eye.

Mature individual to manage video rental store.

No experience required. $15 hr.

"There's got to be a catch," she says to herself, tearing out the ad and quickly hopping on the bus before the driver can get cute. "Don't be so negative," her conscience scolds her as she takes a seat in the back. "It might be right up your line. Besides, how are you planning to pay your rent? By winning the lottery?"

Re-reading the ad, Sandy sees that the address is just a few blocks away. She tugs on the cord above her, reluctantly, and the bus rumbles to a stop. The female driver looks into her rear view mirror and snaps her gum impatiently. Her expression, half sneer and half leer, leaves an ambiguous impression on the redhead as she steps down onto the curb. Why does this woman always look at her so? And more doubts cloud Sandy's brain when she sees an 'Adults Only' sign marking the entrance to the store she's seeking.

She pauses outside the green-colored door to check the address. Unfortunately, it matches, and a groan escapes her lips. What should she do? The store's windows are painted black, so she can't peek in, and her mind concocts a lurid picture of orgies and police line-ups. Feeling jittery just being near such a place, she looks around as if she were being followed. Biting her lip, she thinks about leaving, but the bus now pulls away, the driver's grinning face staring back at her in the side mirror. "Damn it! Go in!" her inner voice orders her. "What's the worst that can happen? You've come this far, so at least check it out! Don't be such a prude! You might even catch a thrill!"

Feeling flushed and sweaty, Sandy takes a big breath and crosses the threshold. She expects the interior to be criminally dark and stifling hot with hookers in fishnet sashaying from trick to trick while junkies shoot up in the corner. But instead she finds the store to be clean, air-conditioned, and brightly lit, and not a single sex fiend jumps out to rape her. In fact, the store is empty except for an older man with a bad cough who's reading a magazine behind the counter. He doesn't look up, and Sandy quickly scans the place. It looks like an ordinary newsstand with magazines and colorful boxes lining the walls. But a closer look reveals that the material is all X-rated, for naked breasts and butts adorn every cover. But most intriguing is a pulsing red light hanging over a dark alcove in the back of the store. A faint humming is heard within, along with the sound of a coin falling into a slot.

Sandy suddenly feels a pair of eyes examining her.

"Feel free to look around," the owner says, setting an example by mentally removing her skirt and blouse. "If you need quarters, just ask. And please don't remove the wrapping from the mags. If you do, you'll be making a purchase."

Sandy stammers that she's there about the advertised job, pulling the torn ad from her purse as evidence. Drawing near the counter, she can't help but notice all the dildos and vibrators arranged in neat rows behind the glass.

"Do you have any experience?" the man asks.

Sandy blushes, not sure what he means.

"Not a problem," he shrugs. "The job's pretty basic. And I'm willing to pay extra for someone who's honest and dependable." Not bothering to introduce himself or get up from his chair, he tosses her an application which falls to the floor. Moving behind the counter to retrieve it--and giving Sam a chance to peek down her blouse--she sees a VCR and a small television showing three naked women being naughty in the shower.

"The soap operas are getting racy," Sandy comments, trying to show some wit.

But the owner isn't looking for a scholar and doesn't even grin. "If someone complains about a tape," he goes on, "we check it out before refunding their money. The world is filled with fucking liars and and scumbags, and you can't trust anybody."

Sandy nods and keeps her eyes on the application. The form is simple to fill out, asking little more than her phone number and if she's ever been in prison. She finishes it quickly and hands it back, not knowing where to direct her eyes. The owner coughs while looking over her entries and takes a drink from a bottle bearing a pharmacy label.

"Hell of a cold," he says. And then adds, "When can you start, Sandy?"

"If I’m hired, you mean? Well, I guess--"

"How about today?"

"You mean...right now?"

"I'll show you the ropes," he informs her. "Then I'm going home to die. My name's Sam, and you'll be working under me. Everyone calls me Uncle Sam, so if anyone asks what you do for a living, just say you work for the government. Okay?"

Before Sandy can say she'd like to think about it, Sam tells her about the cash register and the code numbers and the rental slips and how to unjam the camera in booth #4 and Dirty Harry who practically lives in booth #6 and thirty other things that go in one ear and out the other. Convinced that she can handle it, he dismisses her fears with a sickly wave of his hand and staggers out the door leaving her alone.

Overloaded with details, Sandy tries to compose her thoughts, but the sexual scenery is everywhere and seems to leap off the walls. A police siren wails in the distance, and she imagines a goon squad crashing in and subjecting her to a strip-search on the sidewalk. Feeling dizzy, she collapses into Sam's infected chair, but the plastic cocks in the display case make her head swim even more. And while trying to remember everything Sam told her, the front door swings open and two young women enter.

"Still thinking about dessert?"

"Excuse me?"

"Something sinfully sweet to munch on over coffee?" the waitress asks.

"I'm already working on a nice of piece of pie," Carmen replied. "But you can fill me again, dear." The professor crossed her legs and slipped her hand under the napkin covering her lap. This wasn't her office, after all, but it did make it more exciting. Now where was she? Carmen sipped her coffee and studied the women at the counter before continuing her fantasy.

Sandy smiles nervously greeting her first customers. One is tall, solidly built, and has poured herself into her pants. Her companion. a raw-boned blonde clad in cutoffs, seems jumpy as if strung out on speed. They smile back at Sandy, showing no anxiety at being in a porn shop. After perusing the racks of videos and mags, they work their way to the back where they read the blurbs of the short films offered in the booths.

"Is #3 any good?" the tall woman calls out to the redhead.

"I...haven't seen it," Sandy confesses. "I just started working here today."

"If we don't like it, will you give us our quarters back?" the blonde asks.

"Sure," Sandy agrees, making a hasty executive decision.

The women disappear into the darkness, and a second hum is heard--followed by derisive groans. Returning looking cheated, they mill around the counter like vagrants.

"Way too fakey," the big woman in jeans says. "The babes looked bored and tired. I hate it when they just go through the motions. I mean, if you're being paid to fuck on film, then you ought to put out like a pro. Right?"

Sandy doesn't know how to reply, but she takes a few quarters from the till.

"What a sweetie pie," the blonde says, flashing her green eyes at the redhead and leaning over the counter to inspect the dildos, asking, "Which is your favorite?"

Again, Sandy is speechless. She smiles awkwardly and shrugs.

"So you like them all, huh?" the blonde says, delighted in making the clerk blush.

"Pay no attention to Wendy," her friend advises. "She was born in a barn like her mother. And it's nice to see a woman in here for a change. Sam's okay, but he's still a guy."

The Amazon introduces herself as Jean and trades small talk with Sandy while the blonde prowls the shelves. Apparently finding something spicy, Wendy asks if she can preview it. Before Sandy can give the go ahead, the blonde loads the tape into the VCR as if she does it all the time. She then sits on the armrest of Sandy's chair and watches two women undress and fondle a third.

"She's got great tits!" Wendy says. "Shit! They must be Z-cups!"

Jean goes behind the counter to take a look, but the action bores her. "I've seen it already," she drones. "The titty-play gets me wet, but the fuck scenes are boring. And they only use a single dildo." She turns her attention to a catalogue on the counter and rests her elbows on the glass while paging through it. In this pose, her denim-clad ass lies directly in Sandy's view.

Wendy sees the cough syrup Sam has left behind and reads the label. "Good stuff!" she pronounces. "It's got Codeine in it." Smiling knowingly at Sandy, she says, "I bet this keeps you hot and horny! Mind if I take a hit?" Before Sandy can say it's not hers, the blonde takes a big swig, shivers, and says, "Yeah!" Then she offers some to the redhead.

"No thanks. And it's not mine, anyway. You see--"

"So you're too good to drink with me, huh?" Wendy taunts. "Boy, you are an uppity bitch!" She says it jokingly and Sandy laughs with her, and when the blonde presses the bottle on her again, Sandy's inner voice tells her to be more sociable. Thinking it might help calm her nerves, she takes a sip of the liquid narcotic.

The blonde's eyes turn back to the video, but Sandy has trouble ignoring the butt looming in front of hers. Wendy misreads Sandy's emotions and teases her about being more interested in Jean's curves than those on the screen. The redhead immediately denies it, but Wendy goes after her like a prosecutor.

"You obviously like Jean's ass," she accuses. "So why not just admit it?"

"I do not!" Sandy insists, though her laughter weakens her defense.

Jean glances over her shoulder. "You don't think I've got a nice ass?"

"I didn't say that," Sandy defends. "You've got a very nice ass. But--"

"She'd really like to kiss it!" Wendy assures her friend.

"I do not!" the redhead protests, pushing back when Wendy pushes her.

Jean ignores their spat and goes back to her catalogue, saying, "If she wants to kiss my ass, that's fine with me."

Since coaxing failed, the blonde resorts to force, playfully grabbing a fist full of red hair and pulling the head forward. "I know you want to!" Wendy says. "So now's your chance!"

"She won't give up until you do," Jean sighs, long accustomed to Wendy's ways.

Woozy from the Codeine and the wrestling match, Sandy surrenders and bestows the desired kiss. "Now are you happy?" she asks the blonde.

"That was too fakey!" Wendy complains. 'I want to hear smacking sounds from your lips like you mean it! Now do it right this time!"

Wendy twists Sandy's arm behind her back, and though the action is punctuated with giggles, the pain is genuine. Since her face is practically touching the bulging Levis, Sandy plays the good sport and delivers a noisy kiss.

"Both cheeks!" the blonde orders, escalating her demands while keeping her hold. "If you only do one, the other will get jealous!'

Sandy fights her captor with an exerted effort, but the blonde is superior in strength. Having no other recourse, she obeys--but does so with an exaggerated flourish.

"Don't get smart with me!" Wendy teases, slapping Sandy as mock punishment. Sandy laughs in spite of the stinging pain, but the blonde proves serious about continuing her domination. "Admit it, slut! You love pleasuring another woman's ass! And you wanted to kiss Jean's fantastic butt the moment you laid eyes on her! Now confess!"

Sandy tries to deny it, but a sharp twist on her arm forces a laughing affirmative.

"Now do it with passion!" Wendy commands. "Right on her crack! That's where you yearn to kiss her, so give in to your deepest desires!"

Unable to think or see clearly, Sandy yields to the pressure and kisses the seam. Watching with wicked eyes, Wendy orders her to make the kiss French. Since her arm is already aching, Sandy sticks out her tongue and drags it through the taut denim crotch.

"Mmmm!" Jean says without turning around. "Nice tongue! I felt that right through my pants! Make her do it again!"

Wendy pushes Sandy's face into Jean's butt as if trying to smother her. Jean pushes back, and the redhead starts gasping. It's a reverse game of tug-o-war, and the rule book is tossed when Wendy goes after Sandy's tits. Jean plays dirty herself, rolling her hips in erotic circles. The redhead squirms to evade the suffocating ass and the pinching fingers, but the blonde and her buddy won't be denied. In resignation, Sandy quits struggling and lets the girls abuse her body.

After getting their fill, Jean goes back to her catalogue, and Wendy releases her prisoner. She laughs at the redhead's flushed face while helping herself to more cough syrup. Sandy finds herself laughing, too. For the girls, though mean and nasty, obviously have no problems with their consciences, and she secretly admires their candor and lack of shame.

Apparently coming down with a cold herself, Wendy gulps the Codeine as if it were a Coke, but when she passes the bottle to Sandy, the redhead begs off. The blonde doesn't like to drink alone, however, and after taking another hit, she grabs the redhead by her hair and pulls her close for a long syrupy kiss.

Everything's going too fast for Sandy. She has yet to come to grips with the idea of working in a porn shop--much less being hired on the spot and left to run by herself. But combining that with the aggressive overtures of two sluts and the ingestion of a narcotic puts her somewhere between Cloud 9 and the Twilight Zone. Having lost all sense of time and space, she's only aware of the warm lips pressed into her own. Though the sensation is far from unpleasant, it sets off an alarm in Sandy's head, and she responds by fidgeting.

"Now stop that!" her conscience angrily intrudes, sending a jolt of pain into her gut. "This is something you should actively seek, not resist! Aren't you always complaining about not being desirable? Well, this blonde wants you in the worst way, and so does her big friend! And an aging whore like you can't be picky about her lovers! So quit playing the good girl and simply be yourself! Besides, these girls are experts who can teach you a lot! So study hard!"

Another jolt makes Sandy groan, and she nods her head furiously. Gauging her reaction as a sign of desire, Wendy turns up the heat, offering her tongue to the redhead. Sandy quickly fastens her lips around it and sucks till her cheeks indent.

Intrigued by the sounds coming behind her, Jean peeks over her shoulder like a suspicious chaperone at an all-girls' camp. "Are you two making out behind my back?"

"What does it look like it?" Wendy mumbles, keeping her mouth glued to Sandy's.

"It looks like a stacked redhead is going to get fisted by a sluttish blonde," Jean replies, watching Wendy tug up Sandy's skirt to get at her pussy. Always willing to help a friend, Jean starts unbuttoning the redhead's blouse.

A stubborn surge of rebellion courses through Sandy, and she swats away the hands undressing her. "No!" she protests. "This isn't right!" But remembering her harsh conscience she quickly adds, " I mean...what if someone were to come in?"

Jean glares at her with authoritative eyes that say "Hush!" like a stern librarian. But the slap she gives Sandy is more reminiscent of a cruel Jell-O wrestler. Coupled with the blow, Jean's dominant gaze silences further objections. And the long kiss that follows allows her to remove all of Sandy's clothes without interference.

Wendy watches Jean play with Sandy's tits, roughly, then she eagerly goes after the redhead's bush. Delighted by its flaming color, she combs her fingers through the red curls and probes the sweaty slit. Her ears detect a chorus of pleas coming from the counter, each dildo begging to be put into service. Too soft-hearted to ignore their calls, the blonde selects a long black one with life-like veins to take the tour of the clerk's pussy. After greasing the shaft with cough syrup, Wendy teases the clit with the head, and Sandy's thighs part at the first touch. The blonde grabs her ankles and plants them high on the counter. Smiling devilishly at the now gaping hole, Wendy plunges the dildo into the moist darkness.