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The next morning, about ten, a cross-town courier showed up with the papers on the Victory Warehouse complex, just as I wanted them. There was a hand-written note from the geezer thanking me “for my patience”. A two hundred dollar blowjob had saved me ten grand, and had gotten a two million dollar renovation project going. If that isn’t great “risk management”, I don’t know what is. I filed away the tactic for future use and called my partners with the good news.

I was so wrapped up in the details I had almost forgotten about Friday night, when Carla called.

You see, every second Friday of the month there’s a meeting of a monthly sci-fi book club. Not a true Star Wars vs. Star Trek geekfest, but a more serious, intellectual study of the real literature of science fiction, from Mary Shelley onwards (Okay, there have been pointed ears, on occasion, and the rare prop lightsaber, but only in the interest of examining the genre’s impact on greater popular culture. No Tribbles or Ewoks were harmed in the creation of the group. Honest.). There were five of us, and each picked a book in turn, read it, and then discussed it in detail and ad nauseum. It was a thick and heady intellectual atmosphere, dealing with high concepts and deep questions, a kind of Oprah Book Club for hard-case nerds. This month was my month to host.

Randy Corbett was the founder of the group, a rotund (“Big Boned”) systems analyst with one of the universities who had no girlfriend, no wife, and way too much free time on his hands. Scott Coleman was a bench chemist doing QA at a drug company, was tall, gawky, and had the thickest glasses you’ve ever seen, and a set of rabbit-like teeth that would scare away any woman who wasn’t a lust-crazed orthodontist. Nolan Palmer was a kind of geek’s geek; like me, he had invested his dot com profits wisely, and now was a lead programmer and major shareholder in a company that makes MMORP games infrastructure. He also builds and fights robots for fun. Since he looks like he builds and fights robots for fun, he was as dateless as the Pope. And lastly there was Perry Howell, a brilliant mind in an unfortunate body. He could discuss the intricacies of ringworlds and wormholes, dark matter and nanotechnology, galactic disc formation and the mathematical certainty of a cataclysmic meteor strike. But he was socially retarded. I’d known him since college, and I had never seen him even speak to a woman, much less date.

I must confess, while part of me loves the intellectual stimulation of the group, another part of me knows with a certain amount of guilt that, next to these giants of geekitude I looked like fucking George Clooney. I had probably bagged more tail in the last month than all of them put together. In their lives. To my knowledge, poor Perry was a virgin, at thirty six.

I had taken it upon myself to rectify that.

Carla called me Thursday evening to confirm our date. That left me scrambling to put together the requested costume in a hurry on Friday, and otherwise make preparations. Carla came by around seven, already pleasantly coked up, her long brown hair slightly askew – as if it had been somehow clasped between a pair of hands, I noted. I let her in with a secret smile and offered her a drink while she changed.

“Good job the other night with old man Foster,” I told her when I handed her a scotch. “He gigged. I got the paperwork done, and we’re ready to roll. He give you any trouble?”

“Just this nasty taste of old-man cum,” she said, making a face. “He was easy. In, out in ten minutes, two hundred bucks. Easy money. What the–?” she asked, confused, when she saw the get-up on the bathroom counter. “Am I getting married?”

“Not tonight, sweetheart – although you could do worse than one of these guys. Issues of hygiene aside, they all have money, jobs, and absolutely no prospects of cheating on you.” I pulled out a picture and shoved it towards her. “Now go in the bathroom and get changed and make yourself up the best you can to look like this.”

She took the picture and her eyes widened in horror. “You are shitting me!” she accused.

“Nope,” I said, smugly. “That’s what I want.”

She looked at the picture, then at me, and back again. “This is some sick-ass shit, Coop,” she said, shaking her head. “I mean, I know sick-ass shit, and this . . . dude, are you sure you don’t want the ‘naughty nanny’? Or the ‘naughty nurse’?”

“No challenge,” I dismissed. “C’mon, Carla, cash money. You might think it’s beneath your dignity, but so was sucking dick behind convenience stores, once upon a time.”

“You are one crazy fucker,” she said, slightly irate. But she took the picture and the outfit and went into the bathroom with her drink.

“The boots are in a box on the chair! And don’t forget to learn your lines!” I called after her. “They’re on the back of the picture!” Carla swore even more, but I just grinned.

This was going to be an eventful evening.


“Gentlemen,” I said, an air of formality about balçova escort me. The pizza had long arrived, and we had each grabbed a beer. “I would like to propose that we postpone our discussion about Roger Zelazny’s incredible Lord of Light, and subsequent inevitable discussion about whether Stephen Brust is purely derivative or merely plying variations on Zelazny’s theme and style. I know you are all disappointed, but I think I have an alternate proposal that may well interest you.”

“Good,” grumbled Randy. “I didn’t finish the book.”

“Well, I did,” Nolan said. “And if we weren’t going to discuss the book, I wish someone would have informed me before I drove all the way across town,” he whined.

“Dude, you live like ten minutes away,” Scott said, confused. “Get over it.”

“I’ll defer to your judgment,” Perry said, doubtfully. “But this had better be good. I love Zelazny.”

“Who doesn’t?” I agreed. “But I have a very . . . special opportunity for you, tonight.”

“Is this why we can’t use the bathroom?” Nolan complained.

“Yes. Now shut up, I’m trying to build a mood here. Gentlemen, I feel that I know all of you pretty well – we’ve been meeting like this for a few years, now. And I also think that I can say without fear of argument that none of you has had the opportunity to really enjoy the comfort of a woman in . . . a while.”

“Shit, is this about porn?” demanded Nolan. “I can get porn at home, Cooper! I came here for—”

“Shut . . . the fuck . . . up,” the usually mild-mannered Scott said, annoyed. The truth was that Nolan was about the most annoying man alive. In this county, anyway. Even Scott had his limits, and the mention of women had dropped his considerably.

“Thank you,” I acknowledged. “Tonight, gentlemen, I have prepared a special treat. The fulfillment of a fantasy that every boy of our generation has carried close to his heart and gonads since the dark years of our common adolescence.”

“A stripper?” Randy asked, excitedly. “You got a stripper? Cool!”

“Not just a stripper,” I continued. “Oh, she’ll strip, if you want, but I have a feeling you’ll want her to keep her clothes on for this—”

“You got a fat stripper?” Nolan complained. “Jesus, Coop! First no Zelazny, and now you—”

“SHUT UP!” his three companions said in unison. That was the first point of agreement they’d had since their unanimous approval of Snow Crash as the best sci-fi novel of the 1990s. The significance was not lost on Nolan. He shut the fuck up.

“Now, before I loose my mood any more, I present to you, gentleman, a lady who will cater to your every sexual need this evening—”

“What?” Perry asked, mystified. “You got . . .” he whispered it, “a hooker?”

“Anyone who is uncomfortable with that sort of thing is free to leave,” I promised, “and none of us will judge him a lesser man for doing it.”

“Bullshit,” Nolan swore, “if there’s a hooker and you don’t fuck her, that’s gay,” he said with the certainty of someone who thinks he’s studied the matter.

“I . . . I’m intrigued,” Perry stammered.

“Hot shit,” Scott said with a big toothy – and I mean TOOTHY – grin. “A hooker, huh?”

“Pussy?” Randy asked, his head cocked and his eyes wide with excitement.

“Indeed,” I said, nodding gravely. “A lady well-versed in the dark arts of sensuality. She’ll suck. She’ll fuck. She’ll do damn-near anything you want. But . . .” I added, holding up a cautionary finger as their normally cerebral minds were shifting to pure animalistic rutting mode, “that’s not all. THIS particular lady . . . will do everything she is asked . . . under my direction. She has another name, normally, but tonight – and only for tonight – you may call her . . .”

Okay, I’m a sucker for suspense, and I had these four drooling fanboys literally at the edge of their seats – which in Randy’s case put him in danger of collapse. I hit the play button on the remote I carried, and a familiar fanfare of trumpets filled my loft in a way only a $3000 sound system can manage.

” . . . Her Highness, Princess Leia Organa, the Senator from Alderaan and leader of the Rebel Alliance!”

Jaws dropped – the first time I had actually seen that familiar expression in real life. On cue Carla appeared from the bathroom, her hair in the iconic ear-muff braids, the long flowing pristine gown (covering tasteful white riding boots) creating a majestic mantle behind her. For all of her misgivings about the project, I had to hand it to her: she looked an awful lot like the object of every young horny boy’s masturbatory fantasy. Okay, her boobs were a little big, and I’m sure she was taller than Carrie Fisher, but she looked pretty fucking hot to me.

While she didn’t strip, she did dance. I watched as she gyrated her ass madly but sensually to the orchestral strains of William’s inspired work, and I watched the geeks in front of me go quietly out of their minds. Carla had a lot of dance and gymnastics training and karşıyaka escort it showed. She had what some call “kinesthetic intelligence”, that ability to move your body perfectly, like having perfect pitch or a photographic memory. I suppose that came in handy when you’re a cheerleader. Or a whore.

While the guys were getting pretty worked up, Carla’s plastic smile only wavered when she turned her ass towards them, her face towards me, and rolled her eyes in hopeless frustration. “Nerds!” she whispered disdainfully.

“Princess, these are professional nerds,” I corrected. “Do it right.” And she did.

“I want YOU!” she screamed lustfully, pointing at Scott, ” . . . to join the Rebel Alliance!” She proceeded to push her boobs in his face and wiggle. Then she turned to Nolan, whose eyes were as big as dinner plates, and kicked up her leg until her booted heel was resting on the arm of the sofa, and her bare thigh was next to his ear.

“Feel the Force,” she urged him, seductively, running her hand from knee to crotch while the orchestra thundered. “Feel it!” she demanded, taking his hand on her leg. Just as he was about to get up under her robe, she turned towards Perry, who looked like he was about to wet himself. She stalked over, swinging her hips with restrained enthusiasm, never taking her eyes off of him. He looked like a wamp rat in the headlights.

“Do you want my . . . light side?” she asked, provocatively, lifting the hem of the robe to reveal bright white lace panties. Then she spun, and put her ass directly in Perry’s sweating face. “. . . or my dark side?”, and she added a little wiggle. Perry didn’t quite faint, but it was a very near thing. Then suddenly he found an ounce of courage and buried his nose between the cheeks of her pantied ass and inhaled deeply.

“Is that a lightsaber in your pocket?” she asked Randy in a sultry voice, “or are you just happy to see me?” And then she fell to her knees and slut-crawled across the floor, looking up at the big man beseechingly. When she arrived at his lap, she wasted no time before unzipping his fly. She instructed them as she pulled out his cock – a surprisingly large one.

“Here’s how it’s going to work, my young apprentices,” she said as she fished around in Randy’s shorts. “I’m going to blow all of you, to take the edge off. Then each of you gets twenty minutes alone in the bedroom to do what every you want. You can go in the regular docking bay, check out the black hole in the rear, or put it between my royal lips again,” she assured. “Whatever you want. Tonight you are my Han Solo. And if you want to eat my Wookie, well, whatever it takes for the Rebel cause, right?”

I won’t tell you that she nailed the lines perfectly, but when your audience half-hypnotized by the aroma of fresh pussy, well, their critical faculties are pretty much shot. Randy had a dreamy expression on his face as Carla dove down his thick, fairly long cock while the rest of the guys acted goofy or ashamed, or excited or nerdy combinations of all three.

“Damn, she sucks good!” Randy declared.

“Oh, what a fucking slut, what a whore, what a fucking cocksucker,” Nolan chanted as he brazenly rubbed his cock through his jeans.

“I love you man!” Scott announced to me, his eyes positively glowing behind his coke-bottle glasses. His long leg was vibrating erratically as he anxiously awaited his turn. Carla was doing a number on Randy, of course. I knew from personal experience just how well she sucked, and I empathized as his eyes rolled back in his head. It only took him about eight minutes to blow his wad in her mouth (as per our arrangement, Carla sucked it down) and then she was kneeling at Nolan’s lap.

Nolan, predictably, had a five-inch boner, but what it lacked in length it made up for in sheer hardness. And apparently in sensitivity, because Carla had only been sucking for three minutes when he made a noise like a dying stormtrooper and shot his load. She made a face as she moved over to Perry.

“Hey, you mind if we get the rest of the party started?” Scott asked excitedly. “Seems to me that she’s got that fine ass just sitting there, taunting us . . .”

I shrugged. “Go ahead, boys, we got her all night.”

He laughed heartily and slid off his pants and pulled his shirt and sweater-vest over his head. I expected Scott to be large – the dude is six foot six, easily – but when that huge wang came into view, I thought Nolan and his miniscule dick were about to run and hide. Carla didn’t see it, of course – she had ever millimeter of Perry’s peter stuffed in her mouth when Scott pulled up her robe, pulled down her panties, and buried that massive tool deep into her twat.

She jumped and made a startled noise at the same time, but Scott didn’t seem to notice. His glasses were steamed up as he began sawing that log between his legs deep into Carla’s pussy. She pulled off Perry’s cock for a moment to voice her concerns when the middle-aged nerd’s hands frantically çeşme escort pulled her earmuffed head back to his dick. She struggled to focus with Scott’s battering ram punishing her cervix, but I paid, I play, right? I just hoped for her sake that the big geek didn’t try to push it up her ass.

Scott was pumping away like an amateurish madman, while Perry squirmed and moaned in muted joy as she sucked him. The other two were already regaining their erections, a maniacal gleam in their eyes. It was going to be a looooong night.

I chuckled at the sight of this former stuck-up bitch of a cheerleader-cum-coke whore getting her pussy vigorously plowed while she performed fellatio on the cream of the nerdery – dressed as Princess Leia, no less. Priceless. I chuckled, and then, despite myself, I leaned down and whispered in her ear.

“You’re sucking off the captain of the Chess club, you know, while the First Chair Oboe player is fucking your cunt,” I said with relish. “And after that, you get to go face to face with the biggest comic book geek in town and the guy who dresses up as a Klingon every Christmas. Oh, what the cheerleading squad would say if they could see you now!” She looked at me out of the corner of her eye, a pleading look on her face as it was pushed further down Perry’s cock by his chubby hands on the back of her neck. “Oh,” I said with false surprise. “You know what would make this celebration even better?” She looked scared. “The proper music.” I straightened up and motioned the other two guys over, so that Carla could play with them while she was otherwise occupied. Then I picked up my remote and started scrolling through songs until I found the right one.

With an evil grin on my face I pointed at the receiver and pushed ‘play’. Then I stared down kindly at Carla while the song began.

“Yub nub!” the high, squeaky voices of the Ewok celebration began over a primal bongo beat, “Eee chop yub nub! Toe meet toe pee chee keene, g’noop dok fling oh ah! Yah wah ee chop yah wah, toe meet toe pee chee keene, g’noop dok fling oh ah! Coat ee chah tu –”

“YUB NUB!” ever nerd in the room shouted in unison. I could hear Carla moan in humiliated despair around Perry’s cock. The guys were looking around at each other like they had just become blood brothers, initiated into some bizarre sexual cult of Jedi. I started clapping in rhythm with the howling extraterrestrial primates, and as an afterthought put the song on ‘loop’. It was a good song. Pity George cut it from his final take.

“You guys gonna be ready for a second round soon?” I asked Nolan and Randy. They nodded with unrestrained enthusiasm, and chimed in at the brilliant chorale refrain.

“Allay loot a nuv!” they sang. I could feel the X-Wings launching fireworks overhead.

It was a glorious moment in my life.


“That,” Carla said as the door closed behind her, Nolan safely out of easy lechery range, “was the single most fucked up sexual experience I’ve ever been a part of!” One of her earmuffs was undone, leaving a long brown braid hanging over her left shoulder, and she had long ago ditched the white robe, but the white equestrian boots were still on. I don’t think she could get them off without help. “And I’ve been to some pretty fucked up parties!” she said, accusingly.

“Aw, Carla,” I said, soothing her and mocking her at the same time, “those guys were desperate. Just some harmless fun. Hell, you probably took Perry’s virginity, tonight, unless you believe him about that ‘chick from Canada.'”

“No fucking way he ever got pussy, American or Canadian,” agreed the whore with a sigh. “And GOD! Who ever said nerds all had little dicks never met that . . . that . . . wookie-dicked guy, what was his name?”

“Scott,” I supplied.

“Yeah, him. Boy’s built like a brotha. I’m gonna be walkin’ funny, tomorrow. Between him and that squirrelly-looking guy who kept putting it up my ass.”

“Just be glad it was Nolan and not Scott who had the anal fetish,” I reminded her. Her eyes opened and she nodded, seeing my point.

“You nerds always party like that?”

“Oh, hell, no. Sometimes it gets exciting.”

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” she said accusingly. “‘Cause I was a cheerleader, right? And those are like your . . . geek buddies or something?”

“Oh, of course,” I agreed. “That was choice. Really choice.”

She paused, looking at me searchingly. “So how come you didn’t jump in on the geek train?”

“I’ve had my time,” I shrugged. “I figured it was more important to them to have a go at you. Of course, now that they’re gone, why don’t you put yourself back together and give me a hummer for the road.”

She considered. “Can I finish my drink?” she asked, wearily.

“Of course,” I said, taking a seat. “I’ve got all night.”

She sighed thankfully and collapsed on the couch. “Wow. That was pretty fucking intense. Sorry I had to . . . powder my nose like that in the middle of it all.”

I shrugged again. “You gotta do what you gotta do,” I said. “Does it really help that much?”

She looked at me like I was from Tatooine. “I just got gang-banged by half a fucking Star Trek convention. Wouldn’t you want to be fucked up for that?” She looked at me more closely. “What, you haven’t tried coke?”

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