Richard Longrod, This Is Your Life!

She looked at him questioningly.

He knew he was way off script, and that his outburst wasn't part of the story but decided to hell with it, "Cara, do you realize that you spoke the line, 'My sister was an only child...'?"

"Yes," she said, looking like a deer caught in headlights, "So?"

"But you're her sister!"

"Right..." she said expectantly.

"This is insane."

"Look, I have no idea what you're talking about," Cara put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, "But maybe we can talk about it over lunch?"

"I'm having lunch with Cathy today," Richard groaned, ready to bang his head against the wall.

"Oh," Cara said quietly, "Going to have something goot to eat?"

Richard blinked, "'Goot' to eat?"

"Right," she frowned, wondering just what the hell was wrong with him.

"'Cara... 'Goot?'"

She stared blankly at him.

"It's a typo," Richard shouted, as Cara jumped back a little, "Your dialogue is riddled with typos! It's 'good to eat' not 'goot to eat.'"

"What do you man?" she backed away from a little, "You're scarring me a little, Richard..."

"I'm 'scarring' you?" he laughed, "Are you asking what do I MEAN?"

"If you're going to be an asshole then fock you," she slapped him hard across the face and walked off.

"Fock me?!" he rubbed his cheek and laughed, "Well then 'fock' you, lady!"

Richard stood there by the water cooler, nursing his pained cheek as heat bloomed across his skin. It was bad enough that the writer had given him another cliché-filled sexual fantasy, but the typos only made the situation worse. Richard cringed at the inane melodramatic dialogue as he rubbed his face. He began to passionately wonder if it might be possible for a literary character to impose his own will towards the idea of suicide?

"A rope," he shook his head dismally, "A rope sounds so good right now."

"Richard?"

He paused in the hall, standing just in front of the roof access door. He frowned, "Hello?"

"Richard, over here," whispered a small feminine voice.

From the partially open door he could see the smiling face of Sandy Morris, the copy girl. He sighed, remembering the script and what was to come next. He forced a smile on his face and slipped into the stairwell with her.

"Oh Richard," she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him, her trim athletic frame pressed hard against his muscular body.

"Hi," he said with about as much enthusiasm as an inmate walking that one, last long mile, "Why, what a pleasant surprise."

"Isn't it?" Sandy beamed, her short blonde hair styled in a smooth fluid curve. Rain began to fall outside, creating a watery mist of droplets against the windows of the stairwell. Richard could hear the people beyond the door taking and carrying on about their business. Sandy smiled at him and winked seductively, "I missed you."

"I missed you too."

"You got a few minutes to kill?"

Richard squeezed her toned ass through her dark slacks and said, "Yes."

"Mmm, Tiger."

Richard sighed and said, "Let's go."

"Where are we going?"

Richard took her by the hand and led her to the next floor up, the top floor and opened the roof access. He motioned out the door with one hand, "My dear."

"It's raining"

"I know," he said, "Can't slip anything past you, can I?"

He pulled her outside and into the cool spring shower. He wondered how Fanny was faring with her gardeners for a moment then dismissed the thought. They strolled across the roof, their feet crunching on the refined gravel that layered most of the expanse. In the gray ambience of the morning, the windows of the surrounding buildings burned against a slow moving misty fog. Richard noticed that their sexual encounter would be seen by everyone in the surrounding buildings.

'It's Nude Day,' he thought to himself, 'Of course they're gonna see us.'

"Oh Richard," she sighed, "I've missed your hard cock."

Richard unzipped his slacks and wondered how Fanny was doing.

***

Fanny hadn't cared much for the writer's style. She could see why Richard was upset, but she supposed it could have been worse. Richard did have a tendency to over-react. It was just his character, the way he had been written. Still, as she rode the cock of the gardener, Miguel, on the reclining lawn chair, she began to wonder if Richard didn't have a deeper point.

Her tits for example. They were huge. Maybe too huge. Fanny was beginning to notice that her back ached more often than not. When she went to roll over in bed, the weight of her bust tended to keep her rolling. As her tits were bouncing up and down, slapping hard and beginning to hurt.

Jose, the youngest of her latest conquests, came around to begin suckling on her left breast when she felt a sting on her arm. Fanny cried out and swatted at the bee as it buzzed away to die. She turned suddenly, reaching for the already swelling welt. Her tits hit Jose directly in the face. There was a muffled Spanish exclamation of surprise as he fell backwards, arms out stretched and eyes wide. Such was the force of the strike that he seemed to bounce off the lawn, his head cracking hard on the corner of the framing sidewalk.

"Jose!" she put a hand to her mouth, "My God, are you okay?"

Jose remained still and unconscious.

"¿Por qué estás parando?" Miguel looked at her, his stubbled face flushed red, "¡Buena mujer del dios!"

Fanny couldn't take her eyes off Jose, "Is he dead?"

"¡Perra loca!" Miguel shouted in Spanish, "¡Estoy casi allí!"

Fanny looked at him, "I don't speak Spanish."

"No hablo ingles," Miguel said and then pointed to Jose, "No preocuparte, él despertará feliz. Su esposa tiene tits como los kumquats. Los boobs lo nunca ataca antes. Él usará el ojo negro con orgullo."

"What are you saying?" she asked, "Look, your buddy is hurt!"

Miguel scratched his chin thoughtfully for a moment, and then, "¿Somos cogida hecha?"

Fanny made a pained expression and pointed to Jose, "Hurt... he's hurt. You know? OUCH?"

Miguel watched her blankly, his dark eyes somewhat glassed over until he smiled broadly, "Tus titties son muy grandes. Quisiera coger el infierno santo fuera de ellos y cum por todas partes tu cara bonita del americano de la perra."

"You understand that?" Fanny nodded enthusiastically, her tits swaying back and forth. She held them in place, squeezing them together. God, they hurt today, "We should stop having sex and help your friend."

Miguel nodded, "Cogida titty?"

"Yes," she began to dismount Miguel. His cock slipped out and slapped against his belly, "We should call 911."

Miguel's eyebrows went up, "Sostener en un minuto. Ningunos polis."

"Do you understand anything I'm saying?"

"Tu gatito es apretado como el puño de mi madre, tú cultiva a hija depravada de la puta americana."

"What?" she shook her head, "Your friend needs help!"

"Si tuviera mi manera, te ataría para arriba como un cerdo premiado, te tomo el hogar y te mantengo mi granero. Tú de mi esposa y mi novia y vete a la mierda pues mi esclavo del amor... y tu marido es un hijo sin valor de una cabra."

"He's okay," Fanny smiled and looked up, "He's opening his eyes."

Jose sat up, brushed his thick black hair out of his face and shook his head. He looked to Miguel and asked, "¿Qué la cogida sucedió?"

Miguel sat up and motioned to Fanny, "¡Ella bitch te dio una palmada con sus tits, tú gatito!"

Jose gently rubbed his nose and began to get up. Fanny stood beside him, offering her hand out. He took it and stood straight. He looked to Fanny and said, "Haces eso otra vez y te pondré en tu lugar, mujer."

Fanny smiled and kissed his cheek, "Okay then. Let's finish up."

Jose gave her a doubtful smile, hand still his nose. He looked down and realized his watch had fallen off. The lanky Mexican bent over to get his watch when Fanny turned to ask, "Can I get you an aspirin-"

Her tits pegged Jose once more. Jose moaned, his eyes crossed and he fell backwards yet again to the grass. Fanny cringed, "-Jose?"

Miguel nodded and put a hand to her leg, squeezing her reassuringly, "Sí. ¿Puedo ahora coger tan tus titties?"

***

The company cafeteria was busy.

Richard sat down at the third table from the door, feeling more like a high school kid than a businessman. The same group of people was there today, as they were every day. Next to him sat Black Beard the Pirate, one of Simply_Cyn's more popular characters. The pirate ate his food enthusiastically, a turkey leg in one hand and a huge stein of beer in the other. He was laughing heartily with another character, Nick. He was the stud from Christo's "Naughty Neighbors" series, a hyper-popular set of stories from the ever-popular writer.

"Man's got more red H's under his belt than I have," Richard grumbled and took a bite of his sandwich.

"Rich," Nick smiled, "How's it going?"

"Oh," Richard smiled as he chewed, "Just fine. You know, working the grindstone..."

"Tell me about it," Nick laughed, "My writer is thinking of continuing the 'Naughty Neighbors' storyline another six chapters. Sweet eh?"

"Well," Richard forced the smile across his face, " 'The Inga Chronicles' could only go so far, right?"

Nick nodded, "I guess so. But it's exciting, I haven't really done anything new for a couple years now."

"Yeah, must be tough," Richard rolled his eyes, "But you kept all your red H's in the index archives."

Black Beard laughed, "Aye, that he did. A testament to the man behind the story!"

"Indeed," Nick raised his mug of coffee, which sported the words 'I'M CRAZY FOR CHRISTO' in bold red letters along the side, "To Christo!"

"Aye," Black Beard raised his stein, "To the most talented, horny lad to cross the site in years."

"TO CHRISTO!" the entire cafeteria shouted, drinks raised.

Richard shrunk back a little and half-heartedly smiled, his drink raised, "To Christo..."

From across the table came the voice of Tucker Fuller. The little shit-headed twerp, the star of his ongoing series of stories from the very man who wrote Richard's own misadventures, piped in, "Hey, you guys remember Sxy_Kitten, that chick from England who did all the audio stories?"

"Lad, who could forget her?" Black Beard whistled.

"Good God yes," Nick smiled knowingly, "She could have ran her own sex hotline and bought the entire Literotica website with a month's earnings."

"Anybody know what happened to her anyway?" Richard asked, "She up and disappeared one day."

"Not sure," Tucker shrugged, "We don't get much news about the outside world here, but as I understand it she got married and moved on."

"I'll have none of that," Black Beard snorted, "She's too wild a wench to settle with a mere mortal. I hear she got the laryngitis one morning and never recovered, her voice reduced to that of a wayward sea cow. Now she works at the local pubs as a waitress pulling $7.50 an hour and putting the twinkle back in many a lonely sailor's eye."

"She would never sell herself like that," Richard rolled his eyes, "The woman has class."

"Aye," the pirate agreed, "But I never said she was whorin', boy. Merely that she was a damnsight easier on the eyes than most tavern wenches."

"No no no," Nick silenced them with a wave of his hand, "I was told she got fed up of every horny old bastard on the site sending her marriage proposals and sexual advances to her email. She cracked and sent them all emails of Estelle Getty nude and claimed that was what she looked like."

"That be a load of bilge swab if I ever heard it," Black Beard shook his head.

"You know what I heard?" Richard asked quietly.

"What?"

He took a long drink of coffee and eyed them all, "She snapped, so Nick here is half right. See, the kitten was well known for her voice and the way she could weave a yarn. We all know she was the best at what she did. The upscale accent, that throaty laugh she would pepper throughout the recording like a dash of sensual salt to the throbbing meat that was collective horniness of the average male reader... she was good. Very good. But one day, a fan of hers went too far. He began threatening her, saying if she didn't meet with him, or least have phone sex with him, he'd throw himself from the roof his own apartment complex..."

Nick raised his hand, "How is that threatening her, again?"

"What?"

"Tis' true lad," the pirate said and scratched at his beard, "Not very scary."

"Shut up," Richard continued, "So this nut ball keeps emailing her and emailing her. Somehow, he finds out her phone number and starts leaving messages on her machine. Now, needless to say, the kitten is getting worried. She contacts the authorities, but no one can find this guy. And then one day, she finds a package on her doorstep. She opens it and finds-"

"A dead rabbit?" Nick guessed.

"No."

"A dozen roses?" Tucker ventured.

"No."

"A still beating heart!" Black Beard's eyes lit up.

"No."

"I found a still beating heart under me pillow once," Black Beard nudged Nick with his elbow, "The first mate of the ship thought'd be a funny gag. Scared the holy piss outta me. Now that's scary."

"No!" Richard shouted, "It was a vial filled with her stalker's cum."

Nick's eyebrows furrowed and after a moment of awkward silence he whispered, "What?"

"No joke," Richard said and took another drink of coffee, "It was his own cum. He had left a note with the package, asking her to inseminate herself and carry his child."

"But that would never work," Nick shook his head, "I mean, you can't just blow your load into a glass, let it sit and then get a girl pregnant. It doesn't work like that."

"Who's telling this story?" Richard eyed him.

"A loser," Tucker suggested thoughtfully. Black Beard laughed heartily at this, slapping Tucker on the back so hard that the younger man nearly fell off his seat.

"Good one lad!" the pirate guffawed and then to Richard, "As I said it be soundin' like a load of bilge swab to me, Mr. Longrod. Aye verily, you might be saying that you're loading the cannon with nothing but air."

"And you can do better?" Richard shot back. His companions stood up to leave and he said, "Wait a minute guys, come on."

"Sorry lad," Black Beard shook his head as he began taking his clothes off, "I be having a Nude Day story to spin in fifteen minutes."

"Yeah man," Nick agreed as his dropped his pants and shorts, revealing his legendary package," I have a sex scene right after this. Don't want to be late."

"But wait now," Richard stood up as Tucker finished taking off his clothes, "Okay, Tucker. Come on man, you don't gotta go do you?"

"You know the writer," Tucker shrugged and adjusted his horn rimmed glasses, "Busy busy busy."

"What does the writer have you doing today?" Richard asked.

"A romantic Nude Day submission," Tucker put his hands on his naked hips, cock swinging free from his shaved pubic area, "It's a switch from the normal sex comedy/ jerk off romps I usually do. I think he had help this time writing it, though."

"What makes you say that?" Nick asked as he kicked his shoes off, now totally naked.

Tucker cocked one brow, "Well, this time I'm only having sex with two women and there's actually about three pages of build up before the actual pay off."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah," Tucker nodded with a slightly awestruck look in his eyes, "An actual story this time."

"And that be out of the ordinary for your writer?" Black Beard asked, now completely naked himself, "My writer is a saucy little lass. She can unravel you a yarn that'll wake yer wank like the wood of a freshly cut timber."

"My writer uses dramatic build up like a kid uses toilet paper," Richard said off handedly, and then to Tucker, "Seriously, you got a storyline this time?"

"Oh yeah." Tucker smiled and nodded.

"Damn," Richard sighed.

"Listen laddie," Black Beard put one huge hand on Richard's shoulder and squeezed, "Sometimes, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do."

Richard blinked, never having been this close to a naked pirate, "And that means?"

Black Beard grinned from ear to ear and said nothing.

"Hello?"

***

"So Dr. Nottee," Fanny sat on the examination table, her legs cross and blatantly revealed by her black mini-skirt, "What can I do?"

Doctor Ihm-So Nottee remained firmly planted on the seat of rolling chair. He put a finger to his chin, a non-descript look of uncertainty shadowed across his handsome Asian features. He ran a hand through his silky black hair and shrugged, "Fanny, I just don't know. A breast reduction is always an option, but you have to remember, your writer can counter-act any fictional medical procedure we might try."

"It is getting to be kind of a problem," She looked down at her green tube top. Her breasts were like twin, rounded torpedoes behind the strained fabric of the shirt. Her nipples were erected and pointing directly at the doctor. "I nearly killed a man today with one of them. Last week, I was cooking dinner and nearly caught them on fire."

"Accidents happen, Mrs. Longrod," the doctor replied genially, "I wouldn't worry too much about it."

"But the back aches and the loss of balance," she looked at him and licked her lips, "It's almost unbearable."

The doctor nodded, deep in thought, "Have you considered a special bed to help bear the load?"

Fanny looked down at her bust again, a sudden revelation striking her, "I hate them."

"Pardon?"

"I hate my tits," she said quietly, a single tear birthing at the corner of her eye, "I'm a freak."

"Come now," Doctor Nottee waved her despair away with a quick motion of his well-manicured hand, "There are women out there that would kill to have breasts like you do. For their remarkable, natural size and ample areola coverage, there's little sign of gravity affecting them."

"You think?"

"Of course," he smiled and went to her side. He placed his hands on his breasts and squeezed gently, a seriously clinical expression pursing his lips, "You see Fanny, I'm a firm believer that natural biology shouldn't be toyed with. Whether given by a higher power or by natural evolution, it was somehow determined that you would be gifted with there tremendous hooters."

"Hooters?" she breathed, "Is that the... medical term?"

"Not officially," he cocked one brow, rubbing her right nipple between thumb and forefinger.

"So what would be the term for my condition?"

"Oh," he sighed, "Hooters, cha-chas, chi-chis, tee tees, ta-tas, titties, boobs, boobies, bongos, heavy hangers, big bangers, large lilies, bop 'em drop 'ems, golden Winnebago's, yahbos, extreme fun bags, melons, air hogans, dirty pillows, mass cans, juggs, happy juggs, jubblies, sweater meat..."

"No," she put a hand on his cheek, "My back problem."

"Oh," he flushed red and smiled stupidly, "Well..."

Fanny waited as the doctor looked embarrassed at the floor.

"It's okay," she reassured him, "People always stare and make a big deal about my tits. They tend to distract."

"Actually," he put his hands on the examination bed and leaned forward, "The writer never researched the clinical term for your condition."

"Oh," she blinked, "That's shitty story telling."

Dr. Nottee laughed, a pained smile across his face, "Yeah. I figured he would have given up writing the story before we got to this part..."

"Well then," Fanny nodded, "There's only one thing to do."

Dr. Nottee eyed her, inching closer and closer, "And that is?"

"A thorough examination," she said and graced him with sexy, come-hither smile.

He raised an eyebrow, "That would be entirely unprofessional."

"Down here," she pointed to her breasts and then to her crotch, "I don't care about professionalism."

She looked down at his slacks and swallowed hard. From the opening of his white lab coat she could see that he was rock hard and bulging. Fanny smiled and winked, deftly unzipped his trousers as the good doctor's eyes opened wide with genuine amusement. She dropped his slacks.