PAGING STELLA CARTER
Paragraphs for Grownups
by Mark Aster
slim and nude
"Ms. Carter, this is my assistant Catherine Bell."
"Pleased to meet you, Ms. Carter."
"Call me Stella."
"And I'm Cat."
I know you are, she thinks. I know.
"May I have your attention please. Would Stella Carter please meet your party at Gate 18; Stella Carter, please meet your party at Gate 18."
Even this time of night, the airport is far from deserted. But there's no one at Gate 18.
Outside the windows, a long silver shape climbs into the rain.
Have you thought about the political implications of what we're doing?
When you close your eyes and let your body melt against him, and he unclasps your bra, what power are you ceding to him? Are you giving yourself only to him, or to him and some larger structure that he represents? How are your bra and his hand connected to the world?
If he puts the soft cuffs on your wrists and ankles so you're open on the bed, and puts the blindfold on your eyes, and fucks you tied and helpless, are there meanings waiting in the shadows?
If I take him by the arms, into the back room, and open his pants and suck his cock until it throbs, and rub my own cock against his, silk against silk, and tweak his nipples until he comes, is that a blow struck for something? Against something?
I like to put you in the cuffs, to wrap black ribbons around your torso so your tits jut out, squeezed slightly flat, the nipples darkened and red, and put the gag in your mouth, and fuck you without the blindfold, so I can watch your eyes.
But lying here now with my cock softening, warm with your syrup, I think about other women who have been bound and gagged and fucked, other women who didn't want to be there like you do want to be here. When we fuck this way, when you bring the cuffs to me or to him and ask us to fuck you, how are we connected to those women? Do we defile them, or mock them? Or honor them, or redeem them?
Or do we forget them?
I dreamed that I poured a jar of honey out onto my hand, and smeared it over your face and your tits and your pussy, and then licked you off, my mouth full of thick sweetness, and pushed my honeyed tongue into your cunt and sucked on your clit until you came. You were tied to the altar with chains of blossoms.
'I can see her lying back in her satin dress
"What's that mean?"
"What's 'a room where you do what you don't confess'? They have, like, a special room for embezzling or counterfeiting or murder or something?"
"I think it's about sex."
"You know, about --"
"Why wouldn't you confess about sex?"
"'I -- I have something to -- to tell you. I know this is going to be a shock, but I -- I -- I FUCK!'"
"Well, you --"
"Hee hee hee hee hee hee!"
"I don't know what this younger generation is coming to."
'The dissenting Justices sound the alarm of repression. But, in our view, to equate the free and robust exchange of ideas and political debate with commercial exploitation of obscene material demeans the grand conception of the First Amendment and its high purposes in the historic struggle for freedom. It is a "misuse of the great guarantees of free speech and free press..." The First Amendment protects works which, taken as a whole, have serious literary, artistic, political, or scientific value, regardless of whether the government or a majority of the people approve of the ideas these works represent. "The protection given speech and press was fashioned to assure unfettered interchange of ideas for the bringing about of political and social changes desired by the people." But the public portrayal of hard-core sexual conduct for its own sake, and for the ensuing commercial gain, is a different matter.'
Miller vs. California, 1973
Do me, baby.
Do me good.
Put it in me.
Suck me, lick me, kiss me.
Oh, God, you two-horned beast of the Celtic night, fuck my pussy with the broad throbbing staff of your swollen prick.
Fuck me senseless.
I want to fuck you until our ears bleed.
Rub your perfect tits over my flesh.
Take me in your mouth.
Run your tongue over me, tease me, squeeze me, make me come.
I love you.
In her dream, Stella was in the airport again, heard herself paged again, walked wondering across the carpeting.
At the gate, someone took hold of her from behind, or someone invisible took hold of her, and her wrists were tied to the bar, her body bent over the desk.
Hands lifted her skirt. She wasn't wearing panties; why wasn't she wearing panties?
Hands on her buttocks, smoothing and pressing and kneading. Nothing beyond that, no sex, no penetration, just the hands, in gentle circles, in firm urgent pressing. Warmth between her legs; startling eroticism of those hands on her rear, just the hands, just the skin on her skin, just the sliding of her flesh over her bones. How can it feel this good?
In the dream, she melts.
... and toes.
The boy came in later on, when they were lying in each others' arms on the bed drowzily rubbing noses. He smiled at them, and tossed his clothes into a corner.
Stella wasn't sure she was interested in a hard male body (he was young and wiry and nearly hairless below the neck); but Cat drew him down between them and kissed him, and took Stella's hands and put them on the smooth curves of his chest.
So later on she was on her stomach on the bed, with his long pale penis sliding into her and filling her, and Cat lying in front of her kissing her mouth with long melting kisses.
"Do you," she breathed, "ahhhh, do you do this with ehhhhhhh with everyone you meet at the airrrrport?"
"No," Cat whispered into her ear, "no they've never been as hot as you before."
Waves of bliss began to move again through Stella's body. If these kids are being paid to make me happy, she thought, they're worth every penny.
And she was coming again.
So here are Stella and Cat in bed, or actually on the bed, lying on the hotel bedspread where Stella more or less threw Cat after the door closed behind them. Now Stella has opened Cat's blouse, and is lapping, hungrily but with restraint, still frightened but also proud of herself, at the hard pink nipples.
Imagine how hard it is to describe this, in the third person! "Stella is lying across Cat's body, lapping at her nipples." That works (it doesn't even occur to you, I hope, that Stella might be lapping at her own nipples). But now I've used up their names; the next sentence is going to have to refer to them some other way.
"Her eyes are closed; she's trying to lose herself in the warm sliding of her tongue on the sweet sweaty skin." OK, that worked; you can tell this is about Stella; all the pronouns are about her. But that leaves Cat as an object, passive, and that's not really how it is. "Cat strokes her hair and purrs. The smile on her face slowly dissolves into heat and wanting." Well, the first "her" is Stella and the second one is Cat. Could you tell? Although Stella's face is pretty much wanting by now, also. Has been for some time.
"She pushes Stella off of her, so they are side by side on the bed. She puts her arms around her, and their mouths meet in a long ardent kiss." Who puts her arms around who? Not that it really matters. But you might want to know. The devil is in the details.
But anyway they're there in the hotel room, and even though they just met an hour ago, they're kissing like old friends, and in about five minutes, after some calmer disrobing and after Cat goes off for a second to pee, they'll (finally) be fucking enthusiastically. Pronouns or no.
She walks down the long row of tubes, looking in at the pale faces, the frozen limbs.
"This one," she whispers to herself, and presses the button. There is a beep, a long hiss, a chill. Eventually the door opens.
The skin turns slowly pink, the face thaws. She opens her shirt and presses her breasts against the hard chest. "Fuck me," she whispers to the thawing ears, "just come out of there and fuck me."
The first kiss is soft and light, and she is very frightened.
The second is longer and deeper and entirely irresistable. For both of them.
He knows that, when he masturbates, he can make it more intense if he clenches down real hard on the muscle between his legs, and keeps himself from coming for a few seconds, keeps the cum from escaping, and if he does that it comes out harder and stronger and the pleasure is more intense. He usually just clenches for a second, and then lets go because he knows it's going to feel so good that he can't wait.
One night he decides he's going to hold it as long as he can. He takes an oath with himself, that he will keep that muscle clenched as long as his body will let him. (He seldom takes oaths with himself; when he does, he's very serious about keeping them.) So he lies down on the bed with a warm washcloth, some lengths of toilet paper. He thinks about the things he likes to think about, and touches himself, and reminds himself to hold it as long as he can.
Later, when his body has stopped convulsing and he's managed to close his mouth, and the world has re-formed itself around him, he lies there feeling his heart still pounding. And he wonders if he'll ever dare do that again.
The boy is driving. There's a plastic divider between the front of the car, where he is, and the back of the car, where she's sitting tensely next to the girl. The woman.
The windows are rolled up. The boy is driving fast.
Stella wonders if she'll scream if the woman reaches over, casually, and puts her hand on Stella's thigh. She wishes she'd chosen a shorter skirt. Or no, a longer skirt. Of course she meant longer.
But the woman is just looking out the window, turning once in awhile to smile at Stella (her lips are very red), not saying anything. Stella watches her breathe.
It's only when Stella, for no reason she'll ever understand, has put her own hand quite casually on the woman's leg, just above the white knee, that the woman finally speaks.
"My name's Cat, by the way," she says, her flesh hot and firm, "nice to meet you."
And she smiles, and Stella is afraid she's going to kiss her.
A young woman lived with her old mother in a small cottage in the forest. They were very poor, and over the years they had sold nearly all that they had to buy food. One morning the young woman's mother said to her, "Daughter, today you will have to go to the market town and sell your pussy."
Now the young woman had had the pussy all her life, and it was very dear to her. It was soft and warm, with fine brown fur. The young woman would sit and play with it for hours, and it gave her great delight. But she was an obedient child, and putting around her her tattered cloak and kissing her mother's cheek, she set out with her pussy for the market town.
In the mid-day a heavy fog came into the forest, and the young woman lost her way. By nightfall she was tired and cold, for the fog was chilly. Shivering in her thin cloak, she was near despair when she saw a light through the trees.
The light came from the window of a small cabin of logs. She knocked at the door, and it was opened by a man with a bushy red beard. He was a broad man and a tall, and he smiled when he saw the young woman shivering in the fog.
"Please, sir," she said, her eyes downcast, "I have lost my way in the fog, and need shelter for the night."
The man answered her. "What would you give me in return, my dear, if I were to shelter you in my cabin?"
"I fear I have nothing to give you, sir. I am only a poor girl, lost in the forest."
"And yet," he replied, "I wager you must have something under that cloak and cotton dress."
"Only my pussy," she said, "which I am bound for the market to sell."
"Then come in," said the man, stepping aside, "and have some soup, and we will see this pussy of yours."
So the young woman sat gratefully by the fire and drank soup, and when she was warm she drew aside her cloak and dress and showed the man her pussy. He admired it very much, and stroked it and petted it most tenderly. The young woman was so pleased by his attentions to her pussy, and so grateful to the man for the soup and the fire, that impulsively she told him that he might take it if he wished.
"You are a sweet kind girl," the man said, "and I will gladly have your pussy."
They retired to the man's bed for the night, and he took her pussy very happily, kissing and nuzzling it, and tickling it with his beard. In the long hours of the night, the young woman was glad to find that she had given her pussy to a man who knew well how to make one happy.
In the morning the man bid the young woman a very fond good-bye. So delighted was he with her goodness that he gave her a fine sable cloak to put around herself. With the sun shining on the forest, she walked down the path toward the market town.
The sun shone hot, and by the late morning she found the cloak heavy and her feet tired. Passing an old woman on a mule going the other way, she stopped to pass the time of day, and admired a stout iron-shod stick that the woman had strapped to the mule's flank by her pack.
"My dear," said the old woman, "this stick is of no use to me, riding on my mule. But if you would give me that fine cloak, I will gladly give you my stick."
So the young woman went on her way with the stick, and the old woman with the cloak.
At noon, the young woman came over the ridge above the market town and stood for a moment looking down. Coming up the road toward her was a young man, thin but comely, dressed all in green. She greeted him as he approached, and he stopped.
"Good morrow, dear lady," he said. "That is a fine stout stick you have there. I have a long journey ahead of me, and would that I had such a stick to ease my way."
"Well for all of that," said the young woman, "my journey is nearly at an end, and I have no great use for it any longer. But," she said, thinking of the red-bearded man to whom she had given her pussy, "what would you give me in return, if I were to give you my stick?"
"I am but a poor boy," said the lad in green, "and have nothing to give."
"And yet," said the young woman smiling, "I wager that you have something there under your bonny coat of green."
"Only a cock, my lady," he replied, "although it has been called a good one."
The young woman took the young man aside from the path, and he opened his coat of green and showed her his cock. It was indeed a good one, large and strong, and the two of them were merry beside the path for a time, and then the young man gave his cock quite happily to her.
Tired from the day's exertions, the young woman and the young man lay down and slept for an hour. But when the young woman awoke, she was alone; the lad in green had taken her stout stick, and his cock also was gone.
Then the young woman was sad, and scolded herself. "I have given my pussy for a cloak," she said, "and the cloak for a stick, and the stick for a cock, and now I have nothing." She was on the point of weeping, when her hand fell into her lap, and finding there a mound of soft fur, she smiled to herself. It was her pussy.
For that is the great virtue of a pussy; however you may sell it, or trade it, or give it away, yet always it stays with you.
"The meeting's been postponed," she said. She'd shaken Stella's hand, but not offered her name. Now she was standing entirely too close, between the rows of chairs in the empty gate.
"We've been asked to see that you're comfortable while you wait." The man, the boy, had been there suddenly, behind Stella's left shoulder.
These people aren't dressed like corporate human-resource people! Or maybe they are; it's a funny industry these days.
The girl's lipstick is dark, almost black. So is her leather vest. Her hair is blacker. Her lips are thin.
Stella hasn't gotten a good look at the boy. He's standing too close to her also, at an awkward angle. She'd have to step back to look at him, or if she just turned in place she'd be touching him, her, both of them, with her body.
She can smell him. He has an earring in one ear; a bright golden dagger, hanging point-down.
"We'll take good care of you," the girl says. Her hands are on Stella's shoulders. The boy's arm is casually around her waist. She's uncomfortable.
And also, she's in the middle of a long hot wave of lust, deeper and harder than anything she can remember feeling while standing up.
"Well, let's go," she says. Trying not to melt.
Have you had sex in a moving train
With the daughter of your banker
With the shadows of telephone polls
"May I have your attention please. Would Stella Carter please meet your party at Gate 18; Stella Carter, please meet your party at Gate 18."
Even this time of night, the airport is far from deserted. But there's only one person at Gate 18.
"Uh, did you page me?"
"Do I know you?"
"You taking anybody to this thing Friday night?"
"I was thinking about asking Alison."
"What, the slut?"
"I seen you sitting with her all cozy in the dining room in the morning. Romancing?"
Alison was the only other morning person in the odd bunch of dissipated expatriate youth here by the pale sea. I'd seen her every morning in the hotel dining room, we'd smiled at each other from our tables, and a few days before I'd gotten the nerve to invite myself to sit across from her.
"Maybe I like company at breakfast."
"Pheh! You could have a piece of that tail just for the asking. Here." He got out his cellphone.
"What are you doing?"
"I've got her number. Not hard to come by."
"Yo, Alison? Carby. Me and your buddy Michel are down on the east beach with some beer. Come down? I wanna ask you something. Tenges. Okay, great."
"What the hell?"
"She'll be here in ten. You'll see."
I took off my shirt again and went into the water. It was still icy, and the waves were picking up. I swam out over my head a dozen strokes, and back. When I came out again, she was standing there facing him, with her back to the water. I walked back up to them.
"Here he is," said Carby, sitting back broad and muscular in the beach chair.
Alison turned to me as I sat down. "Hi!" The wind whipped her hair, long and light brown and loose, around her head. She was in a two-piece swim suit, skimpy but practical, not a bikini. It clung to her tightly, cut high on her hips and low at her chest. Her nipples stood out on the curves of her breasts. "Tia and I were heading for the pool when this strange fellow called me." I grinned back at her and shrugged my shoulders. She wrinkled her nose.
"So Ally," said Carby, "I called you down 'cause I thought you might want to fuck."
"Fuck?" she asked. Her eyebrows arched.
"Yeah, fuck. You know."
"Right here on the beach?"
"Yeah." He smiled, bear-like, and spread his huge thighs. We could both see the bulge in his loose trunks. She looked at me again; I shrugged again.
"Well," she said to him, "are you any good?"
He guffawed, a burst of a laugh. "Honey, I'm great." He bobbed in the chair and slid his trunks to his ankles. His cock swayed in his lap, thick but only half erect.
"It's not very big," Alison said, her hands on her hips and her pink tongue running over her lips.
"It gets bigger," Carby rumbled, running his big hairy hands down his thighs.
"And what might make it bigger?" Alison asked. She stepped forward, straddling his lap with her long tan legs, one arm on either side of his head, her hands gripping the back of his chair. He just looked up into her face. He's not quite the asshole he seems.
After a long second, her body poised over him and their faces close together in the salty wind, she kissed him lightly on the side of the mouth. Then she kissed him again, harder. And again, and her eyes closed, and he put one beefy hand behind her head and pulled her mouth tight against his. Their lips opened. His cock stiffened visibly. She opened her eyes and drew back, smiling a little breathless into his ruddy face.
She reached one hand down between them and wrapped her fingers around the swelling staff. She looked over at me again with a quizical half smile. I nodded, a strange warm feeling washing over me as I admired her body and her face. She closed her eyes and kissed him again, sliding her tongue into his mouth, her body visibly softening. His big hands caressed her shoulders, and his thumbs ran over her chest, circling over her nipples. She lowered herself onto his lap, taking the weight off her arm. His cock twitched between her thighs as he kissed her face, and his fingers slipped under the top of her suit.
He stretched the fabric upward and freed her breasts. His hands cupped and fondled them as his lips touched her eyelids. She sighed deeply, and stood up again, stepping back from the chair.
"OK," she said, sliding the bottom of her suit down her long legs with a graceful movement. She folded them neatly and tucked them into our beer cooler, out of the wind. "I guess we can fuck." She shrugged her arms, and the top of her suit gathered loosely around her neck, baring her breasts completely. She sat in his lap again, facing him, the base of his cock nestled in the fur between her thighs.
"But go slow," she said, and I could barely hear her over the wind, "I'm not that wet yet."
"And what could make you wet?" he said in a throaty voice, taking her breasts in his hands and rubbing the nipples with his thumbs. She arched her back and pressed herself into his hands, and he kissed her neck. He opened his mouth wide, and sucked the round end of her left breast in between his lips. She gasped and rocked her hips, rubbing herself against his swollen shaft. He kissed her other breast, and stroked the nipple roughly with his blunt tongue. Her hands stroked her shoulders and the back of his head. Her body moved sinuously in his lap.
She moaned. "OK, ok I'm wet now," and she put her hand between them again, and raised herself up, and steered just the tip of his cock into the darkness between her thighs. He grunted and wrapped his hands around her upper arms. She sank down slowly, working the hot flesh into herself. He sighed, his mouth open.
They fucked slowly, kissing each other's faces and mouths, crooning deleriously into the wind. Somewhere near orgasm, she opened her eyes and looked over at me, her face feverish and delighted. My cock was pulsing in my trunks, but I kept myself from touching it. I licked my lips when she looked at me, and she closed her eyes again and put her arms around Carby's neck, and her cunt squeezed his cock, and she started to come. He took her buttocks in his hands and kneaded them, and she screamed and bucked against him and he came also, grunting and squirting his seed into her.
She kissed him once more, long and languid, and slowly pulled her hips back, and his cock slid wetly out of her. She stood up. Her legs hardly shaking, she retrieved the bottom of her suit, smiled at us, and walked off down the beach. We watched her go, dipping herself into the waves, stepping back into her suit, pulling the top down over her breasts. Carby gave a big sigh of pleasure. I make a rude noise at him and waited for my cock to soften.
On waking the next morning, I wasn't sure if she'd be at breakfast. But she was, and I sat at her table, and we talked. And I found that having seen her naked, having seen Carby's mouth on her tits, seen her ass bucking in Carby's lap as they fucked, didn't mean much. What I wanted from her was something beyond that, something deeper inside than a cock could reach.
And fortunately she felt -- oh, there they are now. Hey, Ally, over here! Aren't the girls cute? Suzy's six, and Dana'll be three in August. And they both look just like their Mom...
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