The next morning, Fred was hardly out of the door when my mind immediately returned to the newspaper clipping I'd stashed under the towels. Running into the bathroom, I heard my heart pounding in my ears as I extracted the ad with a trembling hand and read it all over again.
The ad seemed to be specifically addressed to me. To be honest, I was full of questions about sex. I had a ton of them.
I knew that sex between human beings was obviously intended by Nature for something beyond the begetting of children, but, on the other hand, I couldn't decide exactly what. If it was supposed to be an expression of love, then why did I experience such fear and pain when my husband was putting it to me?
I knew that as a normal woman and a devoted wife I should look forward to and enjoy sex with my mate. Yet, with each passing day I dreaded it more.
Maybe, it occurred to me, I really wasn't the person I assumed I was.
All of a sudden the normality I had always taken for granted was under siege. Self-doubt started to consume me on the spot like a flame licking up a piece of dry parchment.
"No… no," I tried to verbally rein myself under control. "I'm a good person. A devoted housewife. After all, I cook for Fred. I'm a good mother to his children. Keep the house clean. Don't go over my grocery budget. What more could a man want?"
Unfortunately, the answer to that last question was on the tip of my tongue.
"Somebody who's good in bed," I ruefully answered myself. That cinched it. I had no alternative but to answer the ad.
The person on the phone told me to come at one o'clock to a motel suite the research organization had rented far interviewing purposes. When I got there I ran into Gloria Schaffer, who was just on her way out.
"Gloria!" I blurted, "What are you doing here?"
"The same thing you are, I guess, Debbie," she answered. "I saw the ad in the paper and thought it might be interesting."
"Are you going ahead with it?" I asked.
"Sure," she said cheerfully. "The kids are in school now, we can afford a maid to take care of the house, so why not? Confidentialiy, I've been going daffy sitting around with nothing to do."
That made me feel better. Gloria and I were the same age, and had even graduated from the same high school together. For her to admit that a respectable life in the suburbs still left some gaps did a lot for my confidence.
"What's the interview like?" I asked Gloria.
"It's very deep," she answered. Then she paused and giggled. "Very, very deep. Just go in, you'll see."
Her behavior puzzled me. However, in my usual fashion, I tried to skirt the issue, in this case by asking an innocuous question.
"Is the interviewer nice?"
"Mine was," she giggled again. "But I'm sure you'll have a fresh one. I suspect that mine's a little tired."
Before I could even attempt to figure out what she was talking about, Gloria said she had to leave. "Listen, Debbie," she called over her shoulder, "why don't you give me a call sometime soon? If you decide to volunteer for this, maybe we could sort of work together."
Just then the door to the room opened and a tall, handsome man introduced himself as Jason Evans.
"Oh, hello," I replied, somewhat flustered by his abrupt and striking appearance. "I'm Debbie Robinson. I'm scheduled for an interview. You know, about the ad in yesterday's paper."
"Of course," he smiled. "I was expecting you. Come right in."
Even though I realized we were in a motel, once inside the room I was somewhat taken aback. The idea of being interviewed by a strange man in a motel room made me feel suddenly ill-at-ease.
"We'll be getting our regular offices later in the week," the man said, obviously detecting my apprehension. "Right now you'll just have to bear with us."
When he sat down, I quickly realized that he was occupying the only chair in sight. If I sat down, it would have to be on the bed. It was either that, or stand up like a fool throughout the interview.
"Go ahead," he said gently, gesturing toward the bed. "It may not be your usual office furniture, but at least it's comfortable."
"All right, Mr. Evans," I agreed, and reluctantly parked myself at the foot of the bed.
"Jason," he said firmly.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Call me Jason. We're all one big happy family here at S.E.X.."
"S.E.X.?" I blurted.
"Yes," he said. "I guess that's as good a place to begin explanation of what we're up to as any."
"Please do," I responded nervously, something in his dark, smoldering eyes making me tingle all over.
"Only if you call me Jason," he insisted.
"Please do… Jason," I acquiesced.
"Very well," he smiled, revealing two rows of strong white teeth. "We are a research organization dedicated to finding out the facts about the human sexual function so we can wake up the American public with the truth. Our official name is the Sexual Experience Exchange, however we use the acronym S-E-X for short."
"I see."
"Our work in this community," he continued, "is to conduct a comprehensive survey on the sexual habits of both males and females. Our computer has selected your area as a typical middle-class suburb. In other words, whatever sexual techniques are practiced here would statistically have to be considered as the most normal of the normal. However, the computer, for all of its powers, can't actually find out what those practices are. In order to do that, we need interviewers, persons people in the community trust, to go out and gather the pertinent information. Are you game?"
"You mean," I gulped, "you want me to go around and ask people about what they do in the bedroom?"
"Precisely," he grinned. "Do you think you're up to it?"
"Gosh," I muttered, "I don't know. That's awfully personal, isn't it?"
"Perhaps," he said calmly. "But when you consider how useful the information can be, I'm sure you'll agree any objections are meaningless."
"Well, perhaps," I stalled, "if I could see one of the questionnaires. You know, see just what kind of things I would have to ask."
"Of course," he said, and drew out a sheaf of papers from a briefcase, handing them to me with one of his dazzling smiles.
Then, before I could start to read the material, he came up with a suggestion.
"Why don't you read them to me?" he said. "You know, pretend that I'm one of the respondents. That way you'll really get the feel of things."
"All right," I agreed, and then gazed down at the first question.
The question was only five simple words, but they hit me like a punch to the solar plexus. All of a sudden I was breathless and gasping.
"Is there anything wrong?" Jason asked.
I lyingly shook my head, trying to conceal how embarrassed I was.
"Then go ahead and ask the question," he said.
"H… how long is… is is…" I stammered.
"Just take it easy," he soothed. "Now start all over again."
"How long is your penis?" I somehow managed to get it out. To my astonishment the roof did not cave in.
"Eleven inches when erect," he calmly answered. "I've been told it's much larger than average."
I didn't know which astonished me more. The question, or his glib answer. I couldn't believe I was having this exchange with a strange man in a motel room, and that it was incredibly all on the up and up.
To keep my bearings, I forced myself on to the next question. "Is your sexual partner satisfied with the size of your penis?" I heard myself asking as though I were a third party witnessing all of this from afar.
"Oh, definitely," he replied with a straight face. "I've never had any complaints yet."
"I see," I murmured, and at that point found my gaze uncontrollably dropping toward his lap.
"Do you experience a sensation of tightness when you have penetrated your partner's vagina during intercourse?" I tried to rescue myself with the next question. However, that particular question provided about as much relief as pouring gasoline on a smoldering fire.
"In all modesty," he answered, "with the size of my organ, tightness is something I always enjoy during intercourse."
"I see," I muttered again.
Only this time it just wasn't just an expression of speech. I really did see something.
Incredibly, bulging from the center of his lap was an enormous lump. The eleven-inch cock he'd been so nonchalantly talking about!
I didn't know what to do but stumble on to the next question.
"About how long after intercourse has begun does it take you to ejaculate?"
"It depends," he said amiably.
"Yes?" I asked expectantly in spite of myself, my gaze riveted on his now-throbbing crotch.
"On whether I'm stroking fast or slow."
"Yes?"
"And whether the woman is moving back."
"You mean like if she has her legs wrapped around you?" I blurted.
"Yes," he smiled. "Or wiggling her hips." Realizing I had departed from the questionnaire, I suddenly stopped talking. Then, as I sat there in awkward silence, burning with embarrassment, I became aware of something which I had not previously noticed. Something so shocking that it made everything that had gone before seem comparatively innocent.
I sensed it on my thighs first. When I accidentally rubbed them together they were slick with moisture.
At first I tried to tell myself it was perspiration. Nervous sweat.
But when I became aware of the clamminess of my panties I could no longer ignore the truth. My cunt was soaking wet.
Without consciously willing it, I had become hopelessly turned on!
"Is there anything wrong?" Jason asked with his usual aura of understanding.
"I… I'm afraid I got away from the questionnaire," I tried to divert his attention from my sopping condition.
"Don't worry about it," he reassured me. "I can tell already you're a natural at this kind of work. If I were a respondent, your naturalness would have made me trust you completely. I'd have told you everything."
"Really?"
"Definitely. Now why don't you continue with the questions? Quite frankly, I'm enjoying this immensely."
I couldn't think of any other viable alternative but to agree to go on. If I got up from the bed, either to leave entirely, or to go to the bathroom to wipe my pussy dry, he'd surely notice the juice dribbling down my legs.
I'd lost my place on the questionnaire, and was too flustered to try and find it. I just asked the first question that caught my eye.
"Do you masturbate?" I asked, speaking the words rapidly so I wouldn't lose my nerve.
"Of course," he said without a trace of self-consciousness. "When there's nothing else available, a quick hand-job can be most satisfying."
I was astounded. I'd always thought males gave that up after leaving adolescence. It seemed incredible that this prime specimen of handsome, mature man would actually practice self-abuse.
I dove into the next question to try and conceal my astonishment. Once again, it only made matters worse.
"Do you employ aids while masturbating?"
"As a matter of fact I frequently do."
"Such as?"
"Women's underwear, mostly. You know, panties."
Needless to say, when he said that I automatically made a mental reference to my own dripping pair. I tried to tell myself it was just my imagination, but it almost seemed that he knew about their saturated condition and was leading me on.
"Could you describe your technique?" I fool hardedly sought refuge in the next question.
"It would be a lot easier if I could just show you," he answered so smoothly that at first I didn't gauge how outrageous his response actually was.
"I… I beg your pardon?" I muttered.
"I think you might understand my masturbation technique more completely if I gave you a demonstration. May I borrow your panties?"
At last the full impact hit me. I fell back on the bed like someone had slugged me with a right to the jaw. As I did so, I'm afraid my legs spread open. Unintentionally, I suddenly gave him an inadvertent view of the undergarment under discussion, the sopping condition of which I was so anxious to conceal.
"Yes," he said with a satisfied grin as he gazed directly between my open thighs. "I believe your panties will do just fine… I'll help you out of them."
Before I could move an inch, he was out of his chair and moving toward me. As he closed the gap between us, my eyes couldn't help but train themselves on the enormous bulge in his crotch. His trousers seemed about ready to burst from the throbbing swelling inside them.
"No… wait… wait," I finally summoned the wherewithal to say, just before he reached me. "I'll take them off myself."
Before he could touch me, I slipped my trembling hands under my skirt and hooked my fingers under the elastic waistband of my panties. Then, my breath held, I quickly slid them down my legs. Their wetness against my skin was unbelievable. My pussy hadn't been so moist in years.
"Here," I presented them to him. They looked more like a sopping dish-rag than an item of apparel.
"Thanks," he winked.
Then he put them under his nose and gave them a long, snorting sniff. I could actually see his nostrils flare.
"Mmmmmmm," he announced, "they smell terrific. I'm sure they'll do just fine."
When he was through sniffing, he dropped a hand below his waist and abruptly unzipped his fly. It produced a screeching wail that practically shattered my eardrums in my agitated state.
Then, with complete nonchalance, he pulled out inch after inch of the thickest, longest hard-on I'd ever seen in my life.
"Oh, my God!" I bleated when his twitching cock was fully exposed.
"Yes, it's a beauty, isn't it?" he said proudly. "I got my eyes and my smile from my mother, and I inherited this from by father."
As he explained his lineage, he stroked the massive organ, pulling the foreskin back and forth over the purple bulb at the end. Already there was an alabaster pearl of anticipatory cum drooling from the leering vertical smile at the very tip.
"Now I'll show you how I get my action with the panties," he said. In a second he had wrapped them around his shaft and was using them like a glove to beat his meat.
With my eyes bugging out of my head, I watched the incredible sight of my own saturated panties being used by a strange man to vigorously fondle his stiff dick.
"I love it when they're wet like this," he told me as he increased the acceleration of his pumping hand. "I can close my eyes and imagine I'm actually fucking the pussy that made them so damp. All that juice is a real turn-on."
I knew I should be disgusted. But if that were so, then why was my attention hypnotically riveted to his every stroke?
"Are… are you going to come?" I heard myself ask, once again the third party watching the action from afar in the enclosed booth of my mind. "Are you going to come all over my panties?"
"What else?" he grinned. "Do you find the idea repellant?"
I choked out an unconvincing "Yes."
"Then why are you licking your lips?"
Suddenly I became aware of my tongue passing over the outside of my mouth. When I tried to put it back inside, it wouldn't go.
"Now watch this," he said arrogantly. "You're going to love it."
Without warning, his cock lurched an additional inch in the air and exploded with a milky torrent of spurting jizz. The initial gob shot across the room and landed with a wet plop right on my exposed thigh. Then he took my panties and caught the rest of the load in their crotch.
It seemed like he came continuously for a full minute. When he finally, finished, the original blue of my panties had been transformed into a milky lather of white.
However, what really caught my attention was that, despite the massive ejaculation, his dick seemed harder and stiffer than ever. Obviously he was capable of coming all aver again without the slightest bit of recuperation.
I didn't know what to do. Here we were, in this motel room, this strange man and I. He had just filled my panties with sperm, and now his dripping, twitching hard-on was apparently throbbing for even further action.
He looked straight at me. I tried to avert my gaze, but it was impossible. Our eyes met, smoldering in their reciprocal gaze.
What could I say? What could I do?
He made up my mind for me.
"Do you want to suck it?" he calmly said.
Slowly, but definitely, I nodded my head.
"Good… Why don't you strip, and I'll eat your cunt while you're doing it?"
Like I was in a trance, I sat up on the bed and quickly and efficiently disrobed. Completely naked, I lay back and spread my legs to the utmost, flexing my hairy, dripping cunt at him in all of its drooling glory.
"You have a beautiful pussy," he complimented me as he got rid of his clothes. "I can't wait to get my tongue inside it."
Then, he was on me, dipping his face between my thighs while he straddled my head with his loins. All of a sudden I found myself with his huge cock and hairy balls just an inch from my face, his masculine scent overpowering me.
I could feel his lips nibbling against my tender labia. Then, like a prong, his rigid tongue shot into my creaming slit. My spasming pussy was filled with oral hardness as he began slurpingly reaming me out.
As his tongue went deeper and deeper within my crack, the will to resist completely dissolved. By the time he was orally tickling the sensitive nodule of my cervix, I was ready to do anything he wanted.
And I didn't need an instruction booklet to figure out what that was. His throbbing cock and balls had all the answers written all over their pulsating expanse.
My lips pursed, I reached out with my mouth and seized his balls. Gobbling them within my oral cavity with one noisy suck, I felt the intoxication of raw sex taking over my system.
His nuts churned like crazy inside my mouth. Obviously they were manufacturing a new load of jizz that would even put his first onslaught to shame.
In other words, the sooner I started fucking his prick with my mouth, the sooner I'd get to swallow his hot wad. The temptation was irresistible.
Letting his sweet balls out of my mouth, I went for the main course. Grabbing his stiff, throbbing tool, I guided it between my gaping lips and began sucking for all I was worth. Inch after inch buried itself down my throat until I was gagging for air.
God, what a sweet-tasting cock he had. During the years that my sex-life with my husband had fallen apart, I'd forgotten just how divine a hard-on could taste. All of a sudden I couldn't get enough.
And, at the other end of my quivering body, Jason seemingly couldn't get enough of my foaming pussy. His tongue was up my cunt to the root now, buried so completely that his top row of teeth was grinding against my turgid clitoris.
Already I was coming, and coming hard. It was incredible, especially considering that I had gone several years without an orgasm from my husband.
Incredible that I was coming like this and Jason's cock had yet to blow in my mouth. Jesus, what would happen when I finally tasted his liquid silk?
I got my answer almost immediately.
The head of his prick seemed to fly apart in my gullet like a fragmenting dum-dum bullet. All of a sudden the shrapnel of his cum was tearing into my tender esophageal flesh.
When the first wave of spunk hit my sperm-hungry throat, I jack knifed from the excruciating pleasure. As I did so, my legs wrapped around Jason's neck, pulling his sharp tongue even further into my convulsing pussy. At the same time, the last few inches of his immense dork sailed between my lips and I was mouth-fucking the monster to the hilt as it spewed its cream into my belly.
When he was finished coming, I wasn't. Intense as it was, my orgasm was just beginning.
And, instinctively, I knew exactly what I wanted to do about it.
"Fuck me!" I screamed as I pulled him out of my mouth and pushed his still-erect cock toward the vicinity of my ravenous cunt. "Come all over again in my pussy!"
"I was hoping you'd say that," he said, swiveling round on top of me so he could get to work.
As it jabbed between my thighs, I could feel with satisfaction that his prick was as hard as ever… maybe even harder. I couldn't wait to get it inside my cunt.
"Hurry up!" I ordered. "I need your big, strong dick in my pussy or I'll die!"
Holding it like a sword, Jason rared back and made his thrust. God, it was divine as his monstrous lance knifed between my gaping pussy lips and traveled up the squeezing canal of my fuck-pit.
He only stopped impaling me when he was in all the way. I could feel his churning balls squeezing against the upturned cheeks of my ass… the thicket of his pubic hair scratching maddeningly against my ultra-sensitive clit.
I wrapped my legs around him and we started moving together. When he bucked his hips, I wiggled my ass. When I lifted my groin, he slammed me with his pelvis.
His dick was so big it felt as though it were engorging every nook and cranny of my body. It seemed like it was breaking my back… shredding my ovaries… rupturing my spleen… making me hemorrhage… I wanted to piss and crap and vomit all at once.
"Kill me!" I cried. "Murder me with your cock!"
He was pumping away now between my legs like he had a piston up my cunt. His balls were slamming against my ass. The head of his prick seemed to reach all the way to my throat.
"Come in me!" I shrieked. "Fill my cunt with your hot, sticky cum!"
I swear to this day that I actually heard the explosion of his phallic bombshell. All of a sudden the interior of my fuck-hole was ripped apart with flying missiles of incendiary goo.
As the molten jizz poured like lava into my twat, my climax accelerated until its fury seemed to be encompassing all of the passion I had been missing out on during the years of my marriage. I was a bored housewife no longer. Rather, I was a randy, spasming female stud, literally foaming between the legs like my cunt was rabid.
Jason pumped, and I humped. We writhed and wriggled… bumped and ground. My pussy was a vise, wringing every last precious drop of jism from his marvelous fuck-tool.
When the spurting of his cum finally ceased, Jason left his semi-hard cock imbedded in my fluttering honey-pot and dropped off me to lay by my side. As we languished in the afterglow of fucking, for some reason I recalled my conversation with Gloria Schaffer out in the hall.
She'd been right. The interview was deep. Very deep.
Approximately eleven inches deep.