The Protocol of Ahab

Chapter II

I expected Rachel to conduct herself with her normal professionalism at the office, but I did not expect it to be ‘that’ professional. When I arrived at the office on Monday, she was aloof, as I expected but also seemed cold. I wanted to say something but did not know how to put the words together. I wasn’t sure I condoned our action, but I did not have any feeling of guilt; in fact, there was an eerie feeling of well-being. If she had second thoughts, I did not want to say something that would contradict her thinking. If she questioned my emotions or the incident; I wanted her to say so. Instead, we masqueraded through our office routine, perfect mimes of the normal workday.

I found her apparent disregard or lack of interest very unsettling. On Wednesday when I left work, I was emotionally distraught. At my apartment I sobbed uncontrollably without really knowing why. I could not make sense of my emotions, perhaps it was just hormones. This was so new. If it was just a onetime fling, I can understand and accept that. If there was more than that I would like to know that also. However, whichever was the answer I was not certain I could have handled it.

My resolve on Thursday was to address the matter directly. I did not want a scene, but I felt I deserved an explanation or, at very least, a rejection.

Rachel did not show up early. The morning passed and her office door remained closed. The notes taped to her door were an indication she has not been in the office all day. At late afternoon, she sprang into my cubicle with her usual aplomb and sat in the chair. Before I could speak, she held a finger to my lips for silence. “Tomorrow after work at Ryan’s? Just nod yes or no.” She removed her finger from my lips as I gave a quick positive nod. “I’ll meet you there. I must be out of the office in the afternoon.”

At least things between us were not all bad. I accepted her gesture as a positive, but not convincing sign. She still maintained her supervisorial aloofness and I my worker countenance.

Friday morning saw Rachel dressed in a business suit and scurrying around among the conference rooms. I kept to myself in my cube. About noon, she poked her head around the corner and asked softly, “You OK after work?” I nodded. “Good. I’ll see you there.” With that she left the building and I felt very apprehensive.

The walk to the light rail seemed long and fatiguing. The afternoon had dragged and the uncertainty, along with a large measure of unreasonable guilt, gave me queasy feeling. The train was on time and dropped me a long block from Ryan’s bar. At the door I scanned the booths for a sign of Rachel. I did not see her and decided to wait on the sidewalk.

“Hey!”

Her voice rose above the background noise, and I turned to see her sitting alone midway down the bar. I took the stool next to her, saw she was drinking a Manhattan and ordered the same.

“Good choice.”

I nodded.

“I don’t know how to begin,” she paused, “but I need to talk to you. So let me just say what I am thinking and let it go from there.”

I felt a lump in my throat, and I tried to inconspicuously gulp air as she continued. “About the other night, I have no regrets. I don’t know about you but however you feel, I still feel we can be friends. If I did anything inappropriate, I apologize. Right now, I just want you to talk to me.”

A wave of guilt and embarrassment swept over me. Was I mistaken in my perception that Rachel was avoiding me? I glanced at her. She projected a stern profile that seemed counter to her carefree effusive attitude. She seemed vulnerable and I felt great deal of empathy, perhaps longing for her. I raised my glass towards her and proposed “To friendship, at the very least.”

As she nodded in assent a mildly effeminate voice rose over the background noise. “What have we here; my two favorite literary critiques! I am not accustomed to discovering intellectual conversation in a dive. Hemmingway and Fitzgerald sought inspiration from smoky bars and demon rum. So, I should not be surprised.”

I turned to the voice coming from behind me. As I did, Rachel exclaimed; “Dr. Visnow. This is a bit out of your element.” She appeared agitated at his untimely arrival.

Visnow smiled knowingly at her comment as he invited us to join him in a booth since there was no room at the bar. Rachel hesitated before rising from the barstool. “That’s OK.” She said as she places a small pile of bills on the bar, “This should cover me. I have an appointment to keep. You can have my seat.” The abruptness of her action took me by surprise and my expression must have indicated that, since Rachel leaned towards me, gave a small peck on my cheek, and said, “Take care and give me a call as soon as you can.” With that she nodded to Visnow and left.

I felt abandoned. She admonished me about Visnow, the self-proscribed ‘sexual conquistador’ and yet she saw fit to leave me almost in his clutches. I also knew I was old enough to fend for myself. If Visnow became inappropriate, I could stop his advances. If I had an urge to continue, so be it.

“Double, very dry martini” Visnow ordered “and another drink for my companion.” I cringed at being a ‘companion’ but accepted the drink. “Would you like some dinner? My treat.” He continued with a presumptive air. “If so, may I suggest a quiet bistro that is casual but a trifle more elegant than here?”

“I like this place.” I countered as I gazed about at the mix and match clientele; everyone seemingly enjoying themselves.

“There is nothing wrong with this establishment, but I had something a bit more intimate in mind.”

Rachel’s admonition rang through my mind. I felt I had four options: resist his advances, play hard to get, go along with the inevitable and enjoy it as best as possible or just go home. I made up my mind in a flash. “OK. I am still new in town and do not have any established loyalties, so OK. Let me visit the lady’s room.” In the cramped bathroom stall, I removed my panties, folded then as compactly as possible and stuffed them in my skirt pocket. I knew what to expect so there was little reason pretend.

His car was not quite what I expected, although I can’t say what I expected. He noted it was a Jaguar XJ-S V12 convertible; very classic. It was long and low; muscular, not what a university professor drove. He held the door as I slid almost backwards into the low seat. I revealed a substantial bit of thigh as I pulled my legs in. I caught a smile from Visnow as I did.

He drove north up the main street, passed the university, “I teach there”, and turned left onto a tree lined boulevard through a residential neighborhood. We were only about a mile from my apartment, but I never ventured to this neighborhood. There were elegant; large Victorian homes with expansive lawn surrounded by mature trees that implied a different place and time.

We came upon a small row of shops tucked back from the street with parking spaces. At the end of the strip was a bistro, almost unnoticed by the casual observer. Visnow nodded, “Do you approve?”

“Of course.” I acknowledged, not knowing any better.

He wended the car through the parking lot looking for an available spot. Nothing. A quick cruise on the side street was fruitless also.

“We can return to Ryan’s, or do you have an alternate?” I queried.

“If you prefer. Or we could repair to my place and have some light fare and a drink.”

His seductive trap was springing. I figured Visnow was aware of the parking situation at the bistro. If this was his plan, so be it. Play on! I wanted the game to continue.

“Your place sound charming. I am anxious to see how a professor outfits his abode” I lied.

With barely an acknowledgement, which confirmed to me this was part of his plan, he turned back onto the main street and retraced our route. The road forked and he bore to the right and circled around an old water tower and turned on a side street that was no more than an alley. The car slowed and then stopped. Visnow fiddled with the small box on the visor and a garage door on our right lifted up, and he eased the car through the narrow entrance, let it idle for a few seconds and then cut the engine. As he clicked the door control again, the twilight interior faded to dark and silence.

Visnow reached over and patted my knee a couple times and then letting his hand rest there. I eased farther back into the plush seat and angled my knee in his direction. He eagerly accepted the bait by running his hand halfway down my inner thigh.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He inquired.

“This car is luxurious. I don’t see many of these back in Nebraska”.

Haughtily he continued, “I suspect that the heartland prefers comfortable midsize American made sedans.”

“Actually, they prefer pick-up trucks with bench seats; far more functional and completely utilitarian.”

“I see. A bench seat does have advantages when alternatives are lacking.”

I chuckled; trying to brush aside any perceived insult. He smiled, leaned over the console, and let his hand ventured close to my bare cunt. ‘Cunt’, I thought. Of all the words that described the vagina, ‘cunt’ was my favorite. It sounded masculine, curt, and forceful; all the things I wanted to be. A ‘cunt’ meant a sense of power not vulnerability or lust. My ‘cunt’ was my pleasure and I longed for that.

As Visnow’s hand lingered on my thigh, I moved mine over his hip and onto his crotch. The carnal snake strained under his slacks and responded with measured pulses to my caresses. Visnow breathed deeply, held it, and exhaled slowly with a soft whistle.

I prodded his hand up my thigh and he took the hint and moved on me. He uttered a soft “oh” as his hand encountered my naked cunt. Once he made contact, he aggressively fingered me. My hips lifted and pushed to get the effect of his fingers. His fingers and hands were soft and almost feminine, obviously not accustomed to manual labor. His technique was different, animated, and deep, extending up beneath my mound and working me vigorously.

I kept my legs as wide as the seat permitted and leaned across the console and placed my head on his lap. I extracted his stiff shaft from his tight satin briefs and took the head in my mouth and nibbled the tip so that the tart precum tickled my tongue.

Visnow extracted his hand from my cunt and pushed me hard onto his cock. I continued blowing him as he reached under my skirt from the back and grabbed my ass. I reacted by arching my back and raising my hips. His wet fingers slid down my crack and pressed gently into my cunt. He gasped slightly as I paused in my sucking. As a second finger began to pump my sloppy gash the palm of his hand slapped lightly against my ass.

“Let’s find somewhere a bit more comfortable.” Visnow asked as if he read my mind. I abandoned his lap and sat back relieved.

He took my hand. Like cats we prowled across the large dark yard and entered the unlit basement, climbed the darken stairs to the kitchen and then led me to the living room which was faintly illuminated by the distant outside streetlamp. He turned towards me with his rigid cock still poking its head from his opened trousers. He undid his belt and stepped from his trousers. He then placed his hands on my shoulders and pushed me to my knees. I anticipated that he wanted me to continue the interrupted blow job but instead he continued to push me onto my back. I pulled up my skirt and spread my legs to accommodate Visnow.

He dropped suddenly, pressing his body to mine as he smoothly and expertly inserted his erect penis into my waiting cunt. The ease and the suddenness made me gasp. Without a break in his intentions, he began to ride me, accentuating each thrust with a low grunt. His cock felt good inside me. It was a long time since I experienced that carnal sensation and wanted to savor it.

He pumped faster, slapping against me. I raised my legs and locked them behind his back and held him as he strained to come. The sensation was pleasurable but not orgasmic. His grunting rose in pitch, and he gasped in my ear the frequent refrain, “I’m going to come.” With that I altered the tempo of my pushing to get in synch and moaned convincingly. “Yes, yes” I panted. I felt his hips tense and then a few quick deep thrusts. I gasped and whined; “Oh yes, Oh yes. More.” A few seconds later he collapsed on top of me. I felt his cock begin to go limp while in my cunt, then the tantalizing sensation of the flaccid member rubbing against my labia as he withdrew, I sighed convincingly.

I felt drowsy as the fading twilight continued to darken the room. Visnow roused, stood, and proceeded to remove his shirt. He was naked standing over me adorned only with a gaudy gold chain hanging loosely around his neck. I too stood and disrobed letting my clothes drop in pile on the living room floor.

“I recall you brought me here for a drink.”

“So, I did. Let’s remedy that oversight right now.”

He took my hand and let me up the stairs to a library in the back room of the second floor. Bookshelves lined the side walls and were packed with hundreds of books of various shapes, sizes, and binding: hardbacks, paperbacks, notebooks, pamphlets. “I have read everyone and written a few.” Without further comment he walked to the wet bar, produced a bucket of ice, and mixed the drinks.

I turned to the back wall. Two windows looked out over a large yard and in the distance the darkened back alley which turned out to be his driveway. Below and beside the windows were shelves cluttered with an eclectic mix of stone and bronze statuary. On the shelf between the windows stood a bronze naked troll-like figure sporting an erection projecting about half his height. I grasped the erection and rhythmically stroked it. I entertained the notion of sucking it but paused.

“That is a Priapus. Ancient Greek fertility god. Most of those are reproductions but a few are genuine. That is genuine. A museum quality piece.”

To my left, what I mistook for a lamp stand was smooth white cylinder. On inspection it was a phallus, perhaps 2 inched in diameter and 12 inches long. The detail was biologically accurate, the smooth crowned head, the tiny slit of an eye, an intricate network of veins and the prominent conduit on the underside.

“Ivory. Carved from an elephant tusk. I bartered with a tribal leader for it. One of my prized possessions.”

This also aroused me. I imagined where it may have been and who used it. As I daydreamed, Visnow stood before me with the drinks. We silently stared at each other for a brief second without embarrassment. Rather than offer me the drink he lifted it and pressed the gold glass against my breast. My nipples tensed as cold sweat from the glass moistened my areole.

“Married women have the nicest breasts.” Visnow commented authoritatively. “Single women think of their mammary as a tease, a lure to encourage a potential mate. Once married, they are a more prosaic about them. It is this matter-of-fact attitude that arouses me. Let me guess, an ample 34?”

I felt a blushed.

“No quite.”

“A minimal 34 then. Is that closer?”

“Hardly” I countered.

With that he moved the cold glass into the valley between my tits. The chill made my spine tingle.

“Cheers!” he saluted as he lifted the glass towards me. “Can we adjourn to the bedroom?” I nodded, impressed with his casual expectation that I would comply; but I would. I nodded and chugged my drink.

“Refill?”

Visnow returned to the wet bar and arranged a tray with ice, glasses and liquor and we ascended to the third-floor bedroom. It was a small back room. A large window gave a clear view of night sky. The moon was almost full and bathed the bed in a soft light. I sat on the foot of the bed and gazed at the sky. Visnow placed the tray on the nightstand, picked up the drinks and sat beside me.

I took a large gulp. The alcohol gave me a false sense of energy. Another gulp and I drained the glass. I lay back, closed my eyes, and waited. I felt Visnow’s body ease next to me and sidle close. His arm reached across my torso and massaged my breast. I cup my hand over his and encouraged him further. He began to roll over, so I spread my legs expecting him there. Instead, he tossed his leg over my waist and knelt straddling me. He pinched my nipples so they stung. I closed my eyes and did not express displeasure. I felt the warmth of his semi-rigid cock against the soft flesh of my breast and murmured with satisfaction.

I grasped his prick and stroke it. When it hardened, Visnow brushed my hand aside and used it to gently plow the shallow valley between my tits. This aroused me but I remained stoic and let his precum lubricate me. As I felt the soft chasm became lightly oil, I pressed by breasts together encasing his cock. Slowly at first and then with increasing force and tempo, Visnow thrust his cock between my tits.

I sighed in satisfaction as I kneaded my nipples and increased the pressure. ‘Titty fuck!’ I thought to myself, ‘I really do love that.’ I ached to reach for my clit and rub myself into frenzy, but I did not want to stop playing with my nipples. I drifted as if in a lustful dream.

Visnow pounded my ribs as he suddenly increased his efforts and grunted and whined. I increased the pressure from my tits on him. “Yes, yes” he uttered between the groans, “make me come.”

I longed to take him in my mouth and satisfy him but each time I raised my head or extended my tongue towards the tip, he pressed me back. I sensed a change. He straightened and then arched his back, keeping his cock reciprocating between my breasts.

I did not feel his come as it squirted into my well moistened cleavage and was not aware that he had an orgasm until he sat back and let his cock free itself from my bosom. As it remained suspended above me, I grasped it and milked the last vital drops onto me. The musky smell and the warm smarmy feel combined to make the most sensuous perfume. Nothing from the finest Paris designer could ever compare to the earthy fragrance of fresh come mingled with the hot sweat of my soft skin. I idly dipped my fingers into the soft goo and spread a thin layer of lacquer over my still firm nipples. This is ambrosia.

I awoke with a chill and a raging thirst. The back of my throat was raw for want of water. I slipped from the bed, and inspected the ice bucket, it was mostly water. I filled my glass and drank hungrily. The cold fluid quenched the burning. I poured another glass letting the remaining ice tumble in with the water.

The windows faced west, but I could sense sunrise was approaching. The faint stars were dying, and a gentle twilight crept in overhead. The back alley where we entered was dark and shadowy since the occasional streetlamps were crowded by overgrown trees.

I estimated where my apartment was; due west to the main road, about a quarter mile, then left to the bar with the unpronounceable Russian name, that would be another half mile, then turn right down the hill. Maybe a mile total.

My body smelled of sweat, come, and stale sex. As I gazed out the window, I scratched away the dried come from my nipples. The starchy grittiness aroused me as it cracked under my fingernail.

Rachel kept coming to mind. I wondered about her one-night stand with Visnow and how it compared. She never expressed remorse or emotion about it. I found my feeling similar. The night had been entertaining but not overly exciting. I viewed my participation as a task I needed to do; like cleaning the apartment, rather than a lascivious tryst.

I stood over Visnow as he lay on his back sleeping, his cock stiffened with an early morning erection. He was not bad looking but his naked body did not arouse any form of sensual longing. Perhaps it is engrained in my psyche somewhere that I frequently create my own lust whether it is pleasurable for me or not. Staring at Visnow evoked that lust. His cock projected like a lure, a tantalizing piece of bait waiting to attract an unsuspecting victim.