Message-ID: <14940eli$9809011524@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: thebear@NOSPAM.io.com (Baird Allen) Subject: {Baird} RP: All This For Only 79 Cents? by Baird Allen (formerly The Bear) (spam spoof oral) Celeste:10:10:10 Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: thebear@NOSPAM.io.com (Baird Allen) Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-Id: <199808311918.OAA12769@www-01.io.com> This repost is in response to Celeste's recent mention (in CR 301) of last fall's spam-title story contest. It wasn't really a contest, because there was no judging and no winner, just a bunch of stories inspired by the subject headers of various spams posted to the alt.sex.stories.* newsgroups. It was Malinov's idea, and was really a lot of fun. This story earned a 10:10:10 from Celeste and was #16 on her list of the top stories for October 1997. "All This for Only 79 Cents?" Copyright 1997 by Baird Allen (writer formerly known as The Bear) Fred Durkin looked furtively up and down the street before sidling into the doorway of Slinky Sindy's Adult Books and Novelties. He quickly opened the door and stepped inside, then stopped to look around in wide-eyed wonderment. He had expected a dark den of iniquity, from which he would emerge clutching illicit goods in a plain brown package, and perhaps wiping his feet as he returned to the security of the sidewalk. What he saw was something different: a shop as brightly lit as any record- store or bookstore, and in fact lined with racks similar to those that might be found in those other types of shops. Colorful signs hung from the ceiling indicating sections for books, magazines, CD-ROMs, videotapes, adult toys, and exotic clothing. The only jarring note was the substance of the posters hung on the walls - most depicted women in various stages of undress, gesturing lasciviously as they sought to entice him to purchase their assorted products. Fred could have spent all day just looking at the covers of the magazines and videotapes - they actually showed people having sex, right on the covers! - but he only had an hour or so to get back home, or his wife would be suspicious about where he had been. He vowed, however, to come this way on his evening walk everyday from now on - surely this paradise of exotica was as much stimulation for his heart as a simple walk around the boring streets of the town? Nevertheless, he decided that it was time to make his purchase and be on his way, so he headed back toward the magazine section, reasoning that he could look at a magazine anywhere (such as in his toolshed, perhaps) needing only his own eyes, whereas to look at the videos or CD-ROMs he would need other equipment that could only be used when his wife was away from the house (a rare condition). Clutching the five-dollar bill that he had managed to secrete from the family cashbox before his wife had counted it, he searched in vain for any magazine that he could afford to buy. He had somehow expected such goods to be cheap, so that his fiver would cover perhaps three or four magazines with change to spare, but the cheapest that he saw were a full eight dollars. He went to the counter to see if anything in his price range was available there. The salesman was busy talking to another customer, and then picked up a red phone and talked to someone briefly, ending with "Come on down to the counter and get him." The other customer stepped away, looking at a magazine display while he awaited whoever was coming down for him. Fred stepped up to the salesman and pointed out a 75 cent postcard that he had chosen, with a picture of a naked girl reclining on a couch. "I'll take that," he muttered under his breath, his throat suddenly tight with fear and totally dry of all moisture. "What?" asked the salesman, loudly. "Which one d'ya want?" Fred cleared his throat and pointed again. "THAT ONE," he surprised himself by almost shouting. The salesman rang it up and handed it to Fred. "That will be 79 cents, with the tax." Fred handed the man his five-dollar bill, and received his change. "Can't I have a sack or something to take it home in?" "Aw geez," sneered the salesman. "A whole sack for a big-spender such as yourself? Just stick it in your pocket, old man." It was right about then that the other customer, the one perusing the magazines, started to cough uncontrollably. His cough got louder and louder, until it seemed that he was about to burst his lungs, and still the man could not manage to stop the cycle - cough, wheeze for breath, cough, wheeze, cough, wheeze, cough. The salesman came around to see what was the matter, just as the man turned blue and dropped to the floor. "Aw shit," yelled the salesman, grabbing the man under the armpits and dragging him toward the door. "Quick, call 911 and tell them they have a choking victim at Lynch Furniture, 301 Elm Street." That was the shop next door. "And hurry!" Fred stood frozen, wondering what to do, wondering where the phone was, wondering why the salesman had dragged the man to the shop next door, and wondering whether he dared to grab an armful of the forbidden (and expensive) magazines and take off sprinting down the sidewalk. Fred's further pondering was put to a stop by a voice from the rear of the shop, a voice that was obviously trying (and failing) to drip with honey. It was, nevertheless, a female voice, and its tones were definitely intended to sound seductive. "Hey, fella, why don't ya come up here and see me?" A bad Mae West impersonation? Fred turned to look. There was a flight of stairs up the back wall of the shop, apparently leading to some second floor office space. Leaning out the door at the top of the stairs was a woman dressed in a blue silk robe, showing quite a bit of cleavage. Fred's hesitation overextended the woman's patience, and her next words lacked any attempt at honey-dripping, or even seduction. "Hey, bud, ya think I got all day? Come on up here, NOW!" Fred obediently scurried to the stairs and up, and followed the woman down a short hallway to a dimly-lit room with a shaded window and a bed. The bed bore a fresh-looking sheet, neatly tucked in with hospital corners; there was a stack of similar sheets on the vanity, along with a bowl of little foil packages. A hamper in the corner held a large pile of rumpled sheets, none too fresh- looking (or -smelling). Fred looked around the room in dismay, not sure what to do next, beginning to worry that the woman might chase him out when she learned that he had only four dollars and twenty-one cents left in his pocket. The woman dropped her robe on the bed, revealing tired-looking breasts that sagged nearly to her navel, fat hips encased in some sort of support garment, and thigh-high black stockings that held in the woman's plump legs like sausage skins. "OK," she said, stepping toward him. "Joey said ya paid for a blowjob. Now you can see what you're gettin', ya sure ya don't wanna change yer mind and get some real pussy? Only an extra ten bucks if ya keep it between me and you and don't mention it to Joey." Fred felt revolted at the thought - pay money to have sex with this woman? Why, he'd be willing to pay to avoid having sex with her! He thought longingly of his sweet wife, and wished he were home. But wait - had she mentioned a blowjob? Prepaid? Fred shook his head and stood his ground, not sure (as usual) what to do next. "OK," sighed the woman. "Blowjob it is. Ya wanna sit or stand up?" Fred didn't trust the bed, even with apparently clean sheets, and so elected to stand. The woman did all the work - she knelt in front of Fred, pulled down his zipper, and fished around inside his boxers for his flaccid cock. Once she pulled it out into the open, though, she gave a low whistle. "Ow, pretty well equipped you are, stud. Ya sure ya don't wanna go for a quick fuck? Only five bucks if ya don't tell Joey." Fred noticed that the price had decreased, but attributed it more to her desire for cash than to her awe of his prick, whcih was slowly coming erect as she expertly stroked it. Since the price of a fuck still had not gotten to the level where she would be paying him, he declined once again, and the woman sighed and leaned forward to take his now-erect penis into her mouth. She sucked hard on the head of his dick for a few moments, then took it in deep to coat it liberally with saliva. What followed was basically a quick and very professional hand-job, with only the head of Fred's cock remaining in the woman's mouth. He came quickly, spurting his jism and almost collapsing from the relief, and the woman turned her head and spat the whole globbet of come three feet into the trashcan. Then she tucked his prick away, zipped his fly, and got wearily to her feet. "That's it, then," she told him. "Go on out of here and let me get some rest. Ya got a tip for me?" He thought for a moment, then stepped to the door before answering. "Yeah," he told her. "Don't tell Joey about this." He went down the hall to the stairs, then out and home. Copyright 1997 by Baird Allen (writer formerly known as The Bear) The Bear's Den - http://www.io.com/~thebear/bearden.htm Sexy Stories (Baird, Kim, DG) - http://www.io.com/~thebear/docidx.htm -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----