Team Work
Story Codes:  MF, Consensual, Exhibitionism     

Team Work
by Jack Scranton

Jane threw her note pad onto the conference table and shot Kyle an I'll kill you look.

"That," she said in an unconvincingly calm voice, "is exactly the kind of testosterone-drenched analysis I'd expect
from a brain-damaged ex-jock whose only sense of numbers involves the length of his cock!"

The rest of the team pretended they were elsewhere. Eyes dropped downward, sought out heretofore unnoticed
stains on opposite walls, gazed out the window at the rustic woodland setting—anything except make contact with
other eyes. But Kyle's gaze held fast on Jane. His amused smile betrayed not a flicker of doubt.

"You dispute my assessment, then?"

"Assessment!? It's a frat-house joke."

"It's a fact. Tits sell."

"We're pitching a juicer. To health nuts. This picture contains no breasts!"

Kyle waved her off. "Not breasts. Tits. There's a difference."

Todd interrupted Jane's retort.

"Maybe we should break for lunch," he suggested, clearly missing the camaraderie he'd hoped this working
retreat would generate.

"I'd like to break something," Jane muttered as she stormed out of the room. It wasn't lost on Kyle, nor the rest of
the team, no doubt, that for all Jane's issues with breasts, hers were prominently displayed, threatening to split
her skintight tee as they jiggled to her determined steps.

Kyle turned to Elise, sitting next to him. "I think that went well."

She laughed. "Hate to break it to you, but... she might not like you."

Kyle shook his head, bewildered. "Defies belief."

"Well... you can be an ass."

Kyle sighed. "I try."

* * *

The team headed for the hotel's restaurant, but Kyle veered off when they passed the bar. If the afternoon
session was as grueling as this morning's, he'd need plenty of reinforcement. He and Jane on the same team—
how bad a mistake was that? But this was a plum assignment. They'd both fought to be included.

The bar was empty, save for a lone figure at the far end. Jane, wouldn't you know. Kyle tuned into the soft jazz
background music, tuned it right back out, took a deep breath and then slid onto the stool next to her. She
ignored him.

"I'll have what she's having," he said to the bartender.

"Another soda water and lime, coming right up," came the bored response.

"Whoa, screw that! Give me an old-fashioned." Kyle turned to Jane. "You'd agree with that, right? I'm just an old-
fashioned kind of guy?"

"Neanderthal, actually." She stared ahead as she said it. Then she pushed her drink aside. "Make that two."

They each paid scrupulous attention to the preparation of their drinks while while pretending to take no note of
each other. Then they sipped in silence as Kyle pondered. Was there a way to make this work? If not, Todd
might toss the two of them, which would be, personal priorities notwithstanding, a piss-poor career move.

Finally the silence turned downright silly and Kyle said, "We need to resolve some things."

"Yeah... like how about you stop trying to push my buttons. Resolve that."

"Be fair. After all, they're your buttons. Dear."

Jane winced. "Don't call me that."

Hmmm. Was that a hint of regret Kyle heard?

"You liked it well enough, once."

She looked away. Interesting. He shifted position to face her head on.

"Refresh my memory. You broke up with me. Right?"

No answer. Still looking away. An unexpected opening? To be exploited? Well... yeah.

He touched her neck, just behind her ear, where he knew the sensations shot straight through her body to her
ever charged crotch. She visibly stiffened.

"Or was that just a painful lesson in which is stronger: your head..." lightly stroking her skin... "or your cunt...?"

Down to her cheek now. Still no response. Kyle gently brushed a strand of hair from Jane's eyes. She shuddered.

"Tell me about that cunt, dear. How's it been lately?"

He ran his fingers up the back of her neck, into her hair, grabbed a hank and tugged. Not hard, just with steady

"Is it feeling a little empty? Cold, even? Perhaps you'd like it warmed up?"

Still pulling on her hair, Kyle leaned in close, so that as he whispered in her ear he tickled her softly with his

"Do you think about me, dear? Do you miss my touch?"

He nibbled at her neck. She moaned and leaned into him.

"How about your feisty little clit? Is it getting the attention it needs? And deserves?"

"Only from me."

"A pity. I've always thought an aroused clit is a tragic thing to waste."

Kyle leaned in now and kissed her cheek.

"Tell the truth: are your panties getting slick?"

"You know they are," Jane answered, her voice so lonely and mournful, Kyle almost would have felt sorry for her,
had his cock not been raging inside his jeans. That's the thing about cocks and cunts: they set their own
agendas, something men embrace instinctively. Women like to think they're clever, that they can cut a deal.
They must always be guided, coaxed, maybe dragged kicking and screaming to accept that the energy between
their thighs does not negotiate.

Now Jane looked at him.

Kyle said, "We should quit this farce. Yes?"

In a small voice, resigned, defeated, Jane said, "Apparently, I have no choice."

"Your room, or mine?"

"Mine's closer."

Kyle held out his hand. Jane took it and they left together, though Kyle had to make an effort to keep up.

* * *

Kyle leaned against the dresser as Jane approached. Five short steps that covered miles.

She said, "So, enlighten me: breasts... tits... what's the difference?"

Kyle chuckled and clasped each of her nipples through her shirt, lifting them. "Today, you wore your tits."

"I wanted you looking at me, not Elise."

He locked eyes with her and pulled just a little higher. When he let go, she jiggled wonderfuly beneath the taut
material. "Turn around."

Jane did so, and as he drew her close, Kyle cupped each of her breasts, gripping them tight. She moaned as he
pressed. Her breathing dropped into ever lower registers.

"You've always been able to hold my attention, dear." He tightened his grip. "The question is, do you want to?"

She began to squirm. Kyle spread his fingers to let nipples slip between, then squeezed them into a vise. Jane
cried out again, but stayed in place, though her body was in constant, trembling motion.

"At some point, you have to stop fighting who you are." Clamping harder. Her legs weakening. Soft whimpers. "I'll
give you what you want. I always do. Even when you hate wanting it."

Kyle released her right breast, only to give it a sharp slap. The sound she made rose from someplace deep
within. Now the other breast. And sharp slaps again to each. He kept it up for a few more strokes. Paradoxically,
with each one, her tension eased and the wall she'd erected crumbled a little more. "Just know this: if you run
again, I won't chase after you. Clear?"

"Yes," she whispered. Already she was easing into that nether world, giving herself over to him, relinquishing her
power, placing her soul in his hands.

"Good girl." He pushed her away. "Now strip."

Jane looked at Kyle with a mixture of fear and lust as she transitioned into willing submission. She took her time,
as he liked. First her T-shirt, peeled up over her head in a languid motion. Her jeans, unclasped, unzipped. She
sat on the edge of the bed, kicked off her shoes and freed each of her long legs from the tight denim. Her
panties stayed on. No utilitarian white cotton today. These panties were slight, filmy things, scarcely there.
Perhaps she'd anticipated this moment. He dropped his hand between her thighs and rubbed the sheer fabric
against her lips. "I do like a girl who plans ahead." He kissed her, then snapped the elastic. "They're cute, but I'm
afraid they must go."

Now he helped her to her feet, stroked her face, her hair, ran his hands over her body, owning her.

"Turn around," he said. "Bend over... lean forward... hands on the bed."

Jane had become a pliant, posable doll.

Her legs were insufficiently spread and Kyle prompted her to open for him. "Don't make me go searching for you,
dear. It hasn't been so long that you've forgotten that."

Hands on her thighs, running up and down their inner surface, coming to rest at the point where they met. A
finger for her clit. It was stiff, swollen. He flicked it a few times. She screamed, just once, and then her body went
rigid. He flicked it some more, and all at once every part of her was liquid. He kept tormenting her, flick after flick,
until, as he'd known would happen, she exploded into a short, violent orgasm. He held his hand against her cunt,
as if offering protection. She worked herself against him but as the first wave subsided, he pulled away.

"Just a taste, dear. You'll have to earn the rest."

Jane was well into her subspace trance. Kyle rubbed her wet slit a little longer, and then reached around to her
mouth, offering his thumb. She sucked it in like a needy child. When it was sufficiently slathered, he set the tip at
her tight little asshole, massaged gently, and pushed into her, at the same time easing three fingers into her
pussy. She didn't exactly cry out, but her response was certainly explosive, as though the mad woman within at
last broke her bonds and surged unfettered into the light of consciousness. Kyle slowly worked inside her,
steadily pushing, stretching, sliding in and out, raising her heat, nudging her ever closer to the edge.

"In case you've forgotten, here's why you need me, dear."

His hand still in her, Kyle began slapping her cheeks with harsh strokes, three to each. After a ragged inhalation,
Jane seemed suspended, but only for a moment. And then she was coming again, an unbroken sequence of
furious spasms rushing through her body. He let her run it out, slowed a little, then brought her back to another
peak, spanking her without pause, unflinching in the force of his blows. This time she lasted a good deal longer;
each time she seemed to be winding down, Kyle increased the tempo of his strokes and the intensity of his
movements in her cunt and ass, pushing her yet deeper.

He ran her through this cycle several times—crazed orgasms, a slow retreat to sanity, then another, and
another. By now Jane's ass was a frightening red. Heat radiated from her cheeks. She'd long since lost all
coherence, had left distinctions of pain and pleasure behind; it was about sensation and intensity, now, nothing
else. By the time Kyle finally flipped her over onto her back and gave her pussy ten more sharp smacks, she was
delirious. He doubted she even noticed when his cock pressed up against her, opened her, filled her, fucked
her. But that was okay. He noticed. Oh yes, did he ever.

He could have done anything to her at this point; she'd love it all. There would be time enough to push
boundaries and explore edges, catch up to each other; he looked forward to all of it. But today, the outside world
had expectations of them, and so Kyle contented himself with a straight fuck, albeit a particularly savage one.
Jane absorbed it all, took it all into her, his cock pounding her cunt, his energy infusing itself deep into her soul.
And then for the short time granted him, he joined her on that empty plane, conscious only of her cunt, and his
cock spurting freely. He felt like he'd come home.

After he emptied himself, he rolled over and lay next to her and held her as she slowly rose back from the depths
of whatever abyss she'd tumbled into. Part of their bargain was that he enabled Jane to come apart and spill
headlong into the void. The other part was now, that he would bring her back in one piece, sated, thinking only
of how to make the next time even more intense.

* * *

Later, as they dressed, Kyle said, "I lied, earlier."

Jane stopped what she was doing, but said nothing. Just waited.

"I said I wouldn't chase after you, if you run again."

Now she studied him closely.

"I will, actually. Not only that, I'll find you, I'll run you to ground and drag you back. But better than that, I'll do
whatever I must to keep you from wanting to run in the first place."

He touched her cheek.

"I might need you to work with me on that one."

Jane nodded, the bond in place, the contract once again secure. Then she said, "We better get moving. If we're
late, people might talk.


She picked up a hair brush, turned to the mirror and began restoring order to her frenzied locks.

"Hold on," said Kyle, catching her arm in mid-stroke. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Brushing my hair. What's it look like?"

"Nah, leave it alone. It looks fine."

"It's a mess!"

"Not nearly enough."

He proceeded to muss it up even more. Then he studied his handiwork, satisfied.

"If we're gonna give 'em something to talk about, dear, the least we can do is make it worth their trouble."

Copyright© 2013 Jack Scranton

Jack Scranton currently resides in an isolated area of the Adirondack Mountains with two Siamese cats, a
Doberman Pinscher named Clyde and two lovely, willing slaves, who walk out on him whenever he becomes
insufferable, which is often. He publishes mainstream fiction under a different name and does useful things to
pay the mortgage, but as Jack Scranton, he tends to this, his preferred genre, mostly because it's fun.

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