Reba Kane, a sexually active member of the group called the Compassionate Women of Mercy--women who provide free, one-time sexual relief for lonely new men in the community--is at odds with Madam Millicent, the owner of the only stockbrokerage/brothel in East Layover, Montana. M/M is the sister of Sheriff Sundown. Reba is the Sheriff's deputy, clerk, and gofer. Sundown won't fire her, even though M/M claims that the Compassionate Women prevent an honest whorehouse from making a profit. Reba falls hard for Rance Woodcock, a tall man she meets in the bar. Rance, who proves to be a hot dancer, takes her to his room for marvelous sex, but when Rance leaves his workplace without telling her, she fears that their affair may be over. Reba's hilarious sexual adventures continue, prompting her to wonder if she will ever be able to settle to one partner. But when Rance returns and sweeps her into his arms, she suddenly finds herself flooded with certainty as to what course her life should take in the future.
|Publisher:||Carnal Desires Publishing|
|Sold by:||Barnes & Noble|
|File size:||108 KB|
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Captain Bob Smart, USAF, morosely gazed out the window of his room in the only hotel in East Layover, Outer Montana. Boy, did I ever goof! Bad enough ... this place is as remote as snow in Arabia. On top of that, there's no TV reception ... and I don't even have enough to read.
Oh, man. If I could only have brought Sally Sue with me here. On his last flight from New York into Grand Eclipse, Sally was the 747 flight attendant who marked a rear lavatory 'out of order,' guided him in, and not only blew him, but managed to fuck him too. Whoa ... what talent. She must live for a hard dick. She said she's made me her fiftieth member of the 'Mile-Hi Club.' I could fly around the world with her. Too bad ... darn lucky if I ever catch her flight again.
Meanwhile, I've got to stay out of sight ... and I don't even have enough to read.
Reminding him of forgotten roc's eggs, two white bubbles shining in the last sunlight on a peak to the north held his attention. The next morning at precisely 0600 hours he would present himself to that RADAR site's commander, and inform him that an unannounced operational readiness inspection (ORI) had begun.
Meanwhile, he had to remain hidden. Bob was known to the officers at the site as an Expert Interceptor Controller from the headquarters at Grand Eclipse Air Force Base. His appearance in town wouldspoil the surprise effect of the inspection.
Disgusted, Bob turned away from the window and picked up his already rumpled copy of Raunchy magazine. He skipped through the pictures. Only one story left to read, and, like dessert, he'd saved a humorous fantasy for last. Reluctant to use up his last remaining entertainment, he threw the magazine onto a nightstand. Hoping one of the former occupants had left something to read, he opened the top drawer. No reading material, but tacked to the bottom was a dignified business card. It advised lonely, unattached men in their time of need to call for help from the Benevolent Society of Compassionate Women of Mercy.
"Well, flap my wings," he said aloud, and read the card several times. Never heard of them before ... wonder how they help? Pay your bill? What I really need ... Mentally, he reviewed the Raunchy pictures. On a wild impulse, he dialed the number on the card. My need might be quite a surprise to the good ladies.
A pleasant feminine voice answered: "Good evening. Society of Compassionate Women. Our good deed is to fill your need. Can we be of assistance?"
Bob almost laughed out loud. It's just too much. Anyone that square deserved to be put on. "Yeah, sure. I'm a stranger in room 204 of the Layover Inn, but I don't need a handout. What I need is a 36-22-36 woman. Do you have any available?" Feeling like a complete jerk, he hung up before she could answer. Damn, Bobby Boy, you're about as funny as a funeral. Hope she doesn't buzz the fuzz. Oh, well...
He flopped on the bed and had just about reached the end of his precious last story when a rapid tap-tap-tapping sounded on the door. Not loud enough to be the sheriff. I didn't order any room service ... surely they don't know I'm here ... A little anxious, he jerked the door open and ... lost his cool.
Lips parted in a half-smile and returning his stare through an invisible cloud of Chanel No. 5, was the most deliciously stacked red-head he'd ever scanned eyeballs across: me, Reba Kane, the narrator of this tale. I feel quite certain that my take on his thoughts while he waited was utterly accurate.
"Hellooo," I tinkled. "I'm Ruby Crown." (not Reba Kane. We never gave out our real names.) "May I come in?"
"Huh? Why, shore! Be my guest!" He stepped back and ushered me in. "You ... You're not a ... Passionate Lady ... by any chance?"
"Compassionate Woman. Yes, of course. You called for help." I removed my dark, military-looking cape. Underneath, I wore a form-fitting green cocktail dress, which, with its silver CWM on each shoulder tab, also suggested a far-out uniform.
As I slowly turned around for his inspection, Bob softly whistled his appreciation. "Looks just like the specifications I ordered. For real?"
"You can find out for yourself," I purred, and put my hands on his shoulders. "You won't be disappointed."
"I believe you, I believe you! Looks expensive, though. How much do all of these fancily wrapped goodies cost?"
Snuggling in close, my arms around his neck, "There's no charge at all. A service of our society to the needy."
"Oh, come on, now," stroking my back and hip. "Save that for the local cubes. Nothing, but nothing, on this whole crazy globe, is free. What's the catch?"
"You're cute, but you're a stranger, and you don't understand. We're terribly isolated here. Apart from the casino and the oil fields on the Indian reservation, the only industries are the copper mines, and there aren't enough women for all the men. Maybe one for every five or six guys."
He nuzzled my throat. "So ... you oughta be gettin' rich."
"I am NOT a ... call girl!" I bit my lip and moved away from him. "It's just that a man needs a woman. It's his nature, and to force him to do without is cruel and dangerous.
"Last year a mob strung up a drifter when the Smith girl hollered rape. I think they were jealous. Anyway, we women knew that didn't solve anything ... for anyone. This is a rugged land, with unique problems. To live here calls for strength and a willingness to do what is necessary. We decided that this problem called for a fresh look and a new approach."
"Well, our literary Review Club studied a book, The Clown, in which this guy muses on wives and whores and another category who are neither ... women with compassion for man's nature. Women who do it for neither love nor money, but simply because a man needs them. In spite of the author's fear that such women would be burned to death in the States, we felt that this was the solution. We vowed to serve mankind and founded the Benevolent Society of the Compassionate Women of Mercy."
"You mean ... You got to be kidding!"
"No, I'm not. By sharing with those in need," I continued as though reading a tract printed on the back of my eyeballs, "we've not only spread joy, but wiped out violent attacks, diminished prostitution, and reduced the spread of disease. It's been a tremendously worthwhile project."
"Gee, that's wonderful. You girls can be proud of your achievements."
Bob picked me up and carried me to the armchair. He began by kissing my throat ... working up to my lips ... working his tongue into my mouth. He unzipped my dress. As his hand slid under my bra, he said, "You don't charge, so you're not call girls ... but how do you live?"
Talking again? Did he have an attention-to-details-at-hand problem? "Oh, you don't understand. Most of us have regular jobs. I work in an office ... the sheriff's office. Other girls are married ... housewives. This is just volunteer work on night shifts."
"Whoa ... Are you a deputy sheriff? Are you going to bust me for feeling your bust?"
"Heck, no. I'm only a deputy during the day." I slid his hand back under my bra.
"Well, I'll be dipped in dragon down. Community social workers ... just so many hours a month, huh? Even so, aren't you worried about picking up something you're not looking for?"
"No. Well, not much. We do require certain precautions. Do you have a ... ah..."
"Oh, sure. Right here." He flipped out his billfold to extract a carefree tomorrow.
"Who's that?" I pointed to a photo of a pretty young woman. "Your sister?"
He held the picture out to me. "Sister? Oh, no, that's my wife, Janelle."
"Your WIFE!" I stiffened. "Oh, no! You're married!" I sprang off Bob's lap, readjusted my bra, and jerked up my zipper. "Of all the rotten nerve!"
"Hey ... what's the matter? What are you doing?"
"I'm leaving!" I snatched up my cape. "You didn't say you were married."
"No one asked. But what difference does it make? My wife's not here. Besides, you said you were here to serve the needy ... "--he tried to take my arm--" ... and right now, I'm as needy as they come!"
"Ohhhh, no, you're not! You're not needy! You're just greedy!"
"That's just not true, Ruby. There's more than one way to look at things." While I struggled with my cape fastener, he managed to get between me and the door. "You wonderful women are performing such a generous service ... and I am a long way from home."
"It doesn't matter. Our constitution specifies only those who need help, and ... I'm sorry ... but that doesn't include husbands."
"But I do need your help! Where's your compassion thing?"
"Never mind! Rules are rules and ... oh, darn it, you just don't qualify."
"My gosh. Do you have to be so rigid and inflexible? I thought the quality of mercy wasn't strained, or something."
"I know, but..." I quit struggling with my cape. Except for my wide eyes flickering, I was rigid. "You're just trying to confuse me."
In one smooth moment, Bob stepped up, snaked his arm around my waist, drew my resisting body up tightly against his, and roughly kissed me. My body began to melt against him, and my arms slipped around his shoulders. Then he tenderly kissed my eyes and chin and nibbled on my ear. "You can't leave now. You want to stay."
"Yesss ... but my feelings don't matter. As long as I'm on duty ... in uniform ... I must be true to our principles. Anything less would be desertion from our cause."
"Duty? Uniform? No, of course I don't expect you to desert, but,"--turning, he locked the door--"that doesn't prevent you from falling into enemy hands!" He encircled my waist. "Now, me proud beauty, you are surrounded! You must surrender!"
I couldn't answer, at first. Then a faint smile blossomed from the ground of my doubt. "Gee, you don't give me any choice. My position has been overrun by superior forces."
"That's right. And to prevent your escape, I decree that the prisoner will remove her uniform." He flung my cape over a chair. "Luckily for you, I'm a benevolent captor, because I'll treat you with all the compassion and mercy that your heart desires." Bob unzipped my dress again. I let it slide to the floor as he unsnapped my bra. Nuzzling my nape, he cupped my breasts and squeezed out my nipples. I began to feel the glow. He turned, knelt and slowly drew down my lacy black panties. Eyeball to pussy, I expected him to eat me, but he didn't even kiss my clit. The glow hesitated.
He carried me to the bed and lay beside me. Ohhhh. He had a dumb tongue, but I forgave that when his finger found my center! Whoa ... He was part contortionist, too, as he sucked on my left nipple, caressed my right nipple and continued fire up my G-spot while nudging my clit with his thumb! When I couldn't hold still any longer, I said, "Enough with the substitute..." I pushed him away enough to grab his cock and start it inside me. No dummy, he plunged the rest of it deeply into me. Ohh, my God! He fucked me ... and fucked me ... and fucked me, and I fucked him back until I came, and came, and came ... and he ejaculated deeply in my open pussy.
Delightfully, he slowly withdrew his slick cock. Slick cock? Seeping out of me? His cum? Oh, my God, he hadn't put that rubber on!
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