The Syntax of Seduction

by Carlos Malenkov

  She wheeled the frail old man into the lobby of the Golden Sunset Nursing Home. He was babbling to himself and drool was running down his chin.

  "Granduncle on my mother's side," she told the nurse behind the reception desk. "Now that he's lost his memory and most of his motor functions, I can no longer provide adequate care for him. Here's the paperwork. Yes, I've already made the necessary arrangements. And by the way, on the infrequent occasions that he's coherent, he answers to Geekboy."

  "You seem to have quite a number of elderly relations, Miss Jade. This is the third one we've taken in so far this year."

  They were asking too many awkward questions here, and anyhow the cops were starting to sniff around. She'd have to find a different place to park her next few lovers.

  Jade walked back out to her car. She drew admiring stares from a group of teenage boys. "Man, what a hottie! Lookit them boobs! And that ass! Hey, sweet cheeks, I got just what you need!"

  Just you wait, sonnyboy, she muttered under her breath. Wait until you're a couple of years older. Your turn will come.

  * * *

  THE CONSOLATION PRIZE

  Leticia Humphrey wasn't the world's richest woman. She wasn't even close. All the same, two and a half billion was nothing to sneeze at.

  Ruthlessness -- that was what had brought her this far -- utter and completely cold-blooded ruthlessness. (Her birth name had, in fact, been Ruth, but she had purged herself of that in a hurry, you betcha.) She always got what she wanted, no matter what the price. Always. And everything had a price.

  Lonely. She was terribly lonely. She'd been married six times and at one time or another had sampled the wares of scores of lovers. Even at 61, rustling up someone to warm her bed was no problem. She could buy all the casual sex she wanted, but usually she didn't need to resort to that expedient. Her reputation sufficed. She was extraordinarily skilled in the erotic arts and few indeed were the variations thereof that she hadn't mastered. Men staggered from her embrace drained of desire and passion . . . and life force.

  Another husband -- maybe that was what she needed. A good and decent man, not like the spoiled, rich jerks she'd been married to. Smart, steady, sensible, kind, and having a good sense of humor. A good listener. Sympathetic. And, of course, an enthusiastic and virile lover, willing to try anything, capable of fulfilling her special needs. She had quite a number of special needs.

  The trouble was that she was looking for an exceedingly rare breed of animal. Those few men possessing the right attributes were already spoken for.

  Take Zach Whitman, for example. He met or exceeded all her specifications, but there was one minor problem -- he was married. His wife adored him, and with good reason.

  Zach was a promising mid-level executive in one of her many business ventures. Only in his early thirties, he had the type of maturity and solid judgment that translates into top leadership potential. He earned good money, but a stock market slump and an extended illness had all but wiped out his savings and left him deeply in debt. He was vulnerable, and therefore eminently buyable.

  "Zach, I have a special assignment for you. It's confidential, of course."

  "You can count on me, sir."

  The executive vice president handed him a sealed envelope.

  An hour later Zach sat alone in the room. The armchair was comfortable. The only other furniture was a small table and a queen-size bed. It was spartan, but clean.

  This was all rather mysterious, and with a bit of cheap melodrama thrown in. The instructions in the envelope had directed him to a certain motel on the outskirts of town. He was to rent room 223 for one night, and await an unspecified visitor. At that time, he would find out more.

  Zach crossed his arms and closed his eyes. The monotonous thrumming of the air conditioner was lulling him to sleep. He jerked awake as the door opened.

  A woman walked in. Leticia! The real power behind the firm, and, if what he had heard was accurate, behind a number of other outfits as well. She was wearing a stylishly casual blouse and skirt, and she smiled warmly as she motioned for him to sit back down.

  "I've been following your career, Zach. It's impressive. We need talent of your caliber at the upper echelons of the organization. However . . . "

  There was a long pause.

  "Thank you for your confidence, ma'am. I'm here in pursuance of company business, as you are no doubt aware. As such, I stand ready to carry out my assignment."

  "Zach," she whispered softly, as she began unbuttoning her blouse. "I am your assignment. You know I'm the owner of the company, the top honcho." She was stepping out of her skirt. Underneath, she had nothing on. "Please, don't compel me to order you to do what should come natural in a situation like this."

  He stood up and walked to the door. He was blushing.

  "I'm a married man, Leticia. A faithful married man. As much as I value my position in the company, I wouldn't do anything to hurt my wife or jeopardize my marriage. Nor will I compromise my integrity. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I find myself unsuited for this particular assignment."

  "Zach," she said. "I'm not asking you to betray your wife. I'm asking you to leave her. I want you. I want you to marry me. I'm offering -- "

  He turned the knob and opened the door.

  "Wait! At least stay to listen to my proposal. Your future depends on it."

  He hesitated then turned around. "This had better be damned good. You've just delivered a mortal insult. It leaves me precious little alternative -- "

  "Shut up. Sit down. Listen. I know how precarious your finances are. You need money to pay your bills. You have no chance whatsoever of fulfilling your potential unless you get money. That's what I'm offering -- money, lots of it. Marry me, stay married to me for a year, a single damn year, and I'll make you a millionaire. That's right -- I'll give you a million dollars in cash, free and clear."

  Zach laughed softly. "You think I'd sell myself to you, prostitute myself? You think I'd give up a wife I love for money?" He got up again.

  "Look, Zach. If you love that little wifey of yours so much, I'll let you visit her after we're married. Conjugal visits. See? I'll even let you fuck the little slut once in a while if that's what it takes to . . . "

  "Goodbye, Leticia. Oh, and by the way, you look much better with clothes on."

  The vase she threw shattered on the door after it had closed behind him.

  "A million dollars, Zach? You really think you're worth that much? Are you that good in bed?"

  "You ought to know by now, Shelly. We've been married six years."

  "Yes, Zach. You are that good. Come here. Hurry."

  The next morning at work, there was a written reprimand waiting for Zach. The regional manager warned him that his job was in serious jeopardy. Zach had been expecting something of the sort. It was to be pressure and threats then. Genteel extortion.

  The office boy brought Zach coffee and donuts. He was a good kid, just barely out of high school. Eager to please, but not terribly bright. The likelihood was that he'd still be an office boy when he retired.

  Zach had a sudden thought. The boy was a handsome, athletic young fellow, just the type an older woman might look upon as "arm candy." There might be some interesting possibilities here. . . .

  "Darl, would you mind taking a message to the front office? Deliver it in person, to Miss Leticia. Oh, and straighten up your tie before you go."

  As expected, Leticia summoned Zach.

  "And what's the bloody meaning of this?" She flung the note at him.

  "Don't waste my time, Leticia. You're well aware of what this is about. You'll never possess me, despite bribes, machinations, threats, or the Byzantine plots you're so fond of. But if you're willing to settle for the freshness and enthusiasm of youth, rather than my tired and worn-out self . . . "

  "Get out," she snarled.

  "The consolation prize," the note read.

  "Mr. Whitman, I don't know what to make of this. Miss Leticia had me up in her private
office. She went over and locked the door, then told me to take my clothes off."

  "Well, did you?"

  "Of course. She's the big boss, you know. And I do need this job."

  "And then?"

  "She looked me over like I was some kind of pure breed dog, like at a dog show, you know."

  "That's pure-bred, Darl. Did she do anything else?"

  "She just said, 'You'll do,' and told me to meet her in the lobby of the Hotel Corinthian tonight. Maybe you can clue me in on what this is all about, Mr. Whitman."

  "You can call me Zach, Darl. What's going on, I imagine, is that you'll be getting an audition -- a tryout. I suggest you shower, put on clean underwear and wear your best cologne. Use mouthwash, too. It wouldn't hurt to pick up a bouquet of roses on the way."

  "So, how did the evening go, Darl?"

  "Uh, well, I don't know for sure, Zach. We both got naked pretty quick. She doesn't much care about the kissing and the holding part of it. Then she went into the bathroom to get ready. I dunno, I thought she was gonna pretty herself up or maybe take a leak or something. But she came out and she was wearing . . . I couldn't believe it. She had on one of those leather strap contraptions around her hips, and there was this thing sticking out of it. It looked just like a man's cock, but it must have been plastic. And there she was, looking down at me with this big shit-eating grin, and then she asked how I'd like that up my ass. I musta turned green, 'cause right then she put her arms around me and snuggled me up to those big, baggy boobs of hers, and that felt kind of nice, you know. Kind of like being hugged by your mom, you know. She took off that strap thing and we ended up doing it in the regular way, except that she had to be on top, you know, and that was all right, too. I was tired, and didn't mind letting her do all the work. But right when were were leaving to go, she told me something else, something that's still bothering me."

  "What?"

  "She said I'd have to get used to taking it in the ass, and learn to like it. She'd make it worth my while to please her and make her happy. Or I could find myself out of a job and out on the street with just the clothes on my back. And speaking of clothes, when I put them on to go, I found two hundred-dollar bills in the pocket of my pants. She's paying me to be her whore, that's what she's doing, and I don't know if I much care for that."

  "It's your choice, guy."

  "Sheeit, Zach, I know I don't have much in the way of talent and I'm no genius either, that's for damn sure. The only thing I've got going for me is being young and looking good. If selling my bod is what it takes for me to make my pile while while I'm still young enough to enjoy it, well . . . "

  "Well what?"

  "Well, where do I go to get lessons in being ass-fucked?"

  Zach just happened to have an acquaintance whose specialty was instructing novices in the art of passive anal sex.

  "You come highly recommended, kid. Darl, is it? I like that. Would that by chance be the diminutive of 'darling'?"

  "No way, Mick. I think it's just another way of spelling 'Darrell.' Dad named me after this wheeler-dealer he worked with once, out west, in Utah or some place like that. The guy called himself a corporate facilitator, or some such bullshit, though he was really nothing but a scam artist. But who cares?"

  "I sure don't, Darl. Now bend over and brace your elbows on the bed. Relax. This won't hurt a bit. . . . "

  Leticia had been in a good mood lately. The word was that she had a new boyfriend. On the infrequent occasions she showed up at the office, people noticed her extra vitality. She seemed to have an inner glow, and at times would absentmindedly shut her eyes and smile to herself. It was infectious. Company productivity and profits surged. Bonuses and raises were in the pipeline.

  Zach had a new supervisor. They got along quite well.

  "You've certainly come a long way in a short time, Darl. Think you can handle being regional manager?"

  "Well, yeah, Zach, it sure does feels funny having you report to me. Leticia's been taking a special interest in my career, though. And I guess I really owe it all to you."

  "Think nothing of it, kid. I hope you'll find happiness and fulfillment as you climb the company ladder. And by the way, are those whipping scars on the back of your neck?"

  "Leticia says I need what she calls 'discipline.' Part of the price I gotta pay to get ahead, I guess."

  "Look at it this way, Darl. If you can't find a woman worthy of your love, then success in business is the consolation prize."

  * * *

  THE ODDS

  "Yeah, that's exactly what I'm getting at. Anal sex does skew the odds. It disturbs the natural order of things and scrambles the probability distribution. If anyone ought to know, I should."

  "Well, it most certainly sounds like a load of horseshit to me."

  "Listen, Mick, you think I'm in this for kicks? Because I just happen to like sticking my cock into any random signorita's butthole? Hey, I'd always thought asses were for toilet functions -- not for insertion of body parts, and certainly not for sex -- and even the idea of ass play used to make me sick. But, then this one particular woman came along -- a rock star wannabe she was -- and she kept nagging and nagging at me until I finally gave in and tried it. Then, I noticed something really strange . . . "

  ---

  Julian was idly flipping a coin. Strange -- it seemed to be coming up tails more often than it should. So what? Sandy was still lying there on the the bed bare-ass naked, in fact, with that skinny bare ass sticking straight up into the air. Probably with his come still oozing out of the brown-rimmed hole between the cheeks of that bare ass. Man, what a wild ride it had been. Her rectal chamber had been hot enough to melt his cock like a wax candle.

  Eight times in a row. Tails. Finally, a head. Then, five more tails. Nah, it couldn't be.

  Just for the heck of it, he went over and got a pair of dice of out his traveling bag. They were honest dice, too, not shaved or weighted. Okay, let's see now. Seven. All right. Another seven. Eleven. Seven, seven . . .

  Sure, why not? There was this diner down the road, maybe twenty minutes by car, that had video poker machines. He'd drive down and see if this weird lucky streak held.

  A pair of jacks. The machine had finally beaten him. Well, he was still thirty bucks ahead. Not bad for feeding in quarters for half an hour. But the "magic" after-sex luck had faded out. And, the scrambled eggs on his plate were cold and rubbery and overdone.

  ---

  "Yeah, hon, it'll be nice and dirty, just the way you love it. We'll strut right into the casino, dressed up real elegant, you know, just like any other respectable couple. But, you'll have nothing on underneath. That's right -- totally bare-ass naked underneath. Then, a few minutes later, you'll visit the Ladies' Room, and I'll wait in the corridor just outside. If the coast is clear, you give three quick raps on the door -- like this. Then, I'll sneak inside real quick, making sure no one's looking, of course. We'll slip into a stall and latch the door. And then, you'll bend over for me and flip your up skirt."

  He picked up $283 at the blackjack table right afterwards. Before his luck turned sour and he dropped a quick $60. But, that was still a cool 200 bucks ahead, even counting the cost of dry-cleaning the suit jacket where he had spilled a martini on it. Not too shabby for a quickie restroom ass-fuck. But still, nothing like the big money this thing ought to be worth. If he could only figure out how.

  ---

  "Well, Mick, Sandy started in bugging me about, well, about letting her do me. You know, letting her fuck me with one of those strap-on gadgets. That's right, a dildo. Up my ass. Imagine that. Just like I was a queer being cornholed by another guy."

  "And, you let her?"

  "Yeah, well, after winning that money I kind of figured I owed her one. Not to mention that I was just a teeny bit curious what it would feel like on the receiving end." "Look, Julie, if you can just learn to relax your sphincter -- yeah, that sphincter -- then it won't hurt. At worst, you'll feel a mild burning sensation. And, some men find
they like it. That it gives them a much more intense rush than sticking their cock into a hole."

  "Sure, Sandy. Just this once. And then you'll shut up and go back to acting like a real woman, instead of being pushy and wanting to get your own way all the time?"

  "We'll see about that. Right now, just shut up and bend over."

  "It turns out I fucking liked it. A lot. That silicone cock plunging in and out of me gave me the most explosive orgasm of my life. It was like a volcanic eruption boiling out of my ass. It was so good it scared the hell out of me. And afterwards . . .