Previous Chapter Back to Content & Review of this story Next Chapter Display the whole story in new window (text only) Previous Story Back to List of Newest Stories Next Story Back to BDSM Library Home

Review This Story || Author: Jethro Jodhpur

Livin' In the Country

Chapter 14

					Livin' In the Country



					     Chapter 14



	It turned out that Professor-Doctor-Et Cetera Philo Plankton lived on
what they referred to as the Left Coast, a strange way to name that part of the
nation. In particular he lived in a small town, outside of what we called Sodom
and Gomorrah II, by the name of Northridge. In reality, as I was soon to
discover, Northridge was no small town and in fact it was part of Sodom and
Gomorrah II.  To carry this fact finding still further, Northridge was nearly at
ground zero when it came to sex and immorality. I could go on for days about all
the strangeness that went into defining the second largest city in the USA as
far as population was concerned, but that would not really add much to my story.
Suffice to say Philo Plankton lived pretty high on the hog and his address was
considered to be a sign of someone who had made it out there in the land of
smog, floods, landslides, fire and earthquakes.

	To get from point A which was where I lived, and point B where he lived,
required me to spend the better part of two days on this crowded bus that rarely
stopped for longer than an hour at any place in between. Had it not been for the
arrival of one Connie Cunny who joined us somewhere in the state of Oklahoma, a
land of oil men, preachers, football players and Indians, in that order of
importance, there would have been little to tell about my great journey to the
Pacific Ocean.

	This young lady with a wholesome face that was pretty but not beautiful
and a set of tits that were unreal and turned out to be very real drew my
attention shortly after she plunked herself down next to me and announced that
she was heading west to become a movie star. I was most impressed, having never
met anyone before who aspired to such a lofty status.

	I made a series of inquiries concerning the requirements that were
necessary to become a movie star and the number of opportunities that were open
to young women such as herself. It was then that CC, as she liked to be called,
told me about the San Fernando Valley, a strange and wondrous place which was
home to a billion dollar industry that had a constant demand for young ladies
who enjoyed taking off their clothing and doing what came naturally, and in some
cases unnaturally, in front of video cameras.

	CC considered herself vey well qualified for employment in this growing
industry that was immune to the factors that caused other business endeavors to
fluctuate in some kind of a random pattern over the years. She claims to have
started practicing for this career when she turned thirteen and began filling
out in all the right places. I had to admit that she possessed all the
attributes of a healthy, happy and very horny country girl. I immediately began
to scheme to both ingratiate and insinuate my person into her circle of intimate
friends or acquaintances; at this point either situation would suffice.

	I began to regale her with stories about my life and times in the
country and how happy I had been until my dear wife, Rhonda, had passed away
from exhaustion one night while we were in the midst of making mad, passionate
love as had been our wont every single evening of our entire married life.
However it wasn't until I casually mentioned my six children who were currently
staying with my sister-in-law while I sought my fortune in the Golden or was it
Gilded state that I got a nibble from my seat mate. Actually it was more like a
pat on the thigh which became a squeeze, as if informing me that we might be
getting together in a manner of speaking once darkness fell and our boon
companions had nodded off.

	Let's face it, most of what I said about my life in the country was true
except for the part about Rhonda being dead, claiming all of her children as my
own and the seeking my fortune fib. Come to think about it, I was in a sense
seeking my fortune, only it was a prediction and not something material. I
wondered how that compared to what I had heard from the charming Miss Cunny, who
appeared to be well-named. All those musings were blown away that evening when
CC got down to business and gave me a demonstration of her oral skills that
would definitely give her an advantage in any interview she had. This little
girl could suck the chrome off a car bumper. I hadn't felt anything like that
since my cousin stuck my dick inside a vacuum cleaner nozzle and turned the
damned thing on.

	When I went off, flooding her mouth with a day's worth of little
wigglers, she just gulped them right down and smacked her lips when she was
finished. "Damn, you taste just like my dear old granddad!", she observed. That
was not exactly what I was hoping to hear from this sweet young thing. On the
other hand at least I reminded her of a family member, even if he was kind of
long in the tooth. I wondered what she'd say to another round, but decided that
I'd let her call that tune. She got up and headed back to what passed for the
bathroom on this wheeled wonder, bouncing off a few of the other riders, who
were doing their best to get some sleep. I closed my eyes and the next thing I
knew she was shaking me by the shoulder and whispering for me to get over next
to the window so she could have a little more leg room.

	 Once I got resettled she started telling me what happened when she got
to the little john in the rear of the bus. It seems it was occupied, and so she
waited a spell. Since her bladder was by now full to bursting she pounded on the
metal door. Getting no answer she resumed pounding and this time a man's voice
told her to go away. At that point she hauled off and began kicking the door.
This time she heard a woman's voice advising her that the place was occupied. CC
was not one to take no for an answer when it came to being allowed to relieve
herself. She threatened to inform the driver of what was going on unless those
two fornicators decamped from the rest room and allowed her to use it for the
purpose for which it was designed.

	By now she had gotten the attention of a number of folks whose sleep she
had disturbed. They were less than enchanted by hearing about this little
discussion that was going on between her and the two inside the john.
Fortunately one of the aroused sleepers had noticed her when she climbed aboard
and he decided to show her what a gentleman he was. He was a large man and his
voice was deep and dripping with menace as he informed the pair inside that they
had thirty seconds to clear out or he was going to break down the door and toss
their sorry asses out of the window. That did the trick. Then CC started
giggling to beat hell as she told me that the couple that came out had to be at
least in their sixties. I just hunkered down in my seat and tried to go back to
sleep.

	I nodded off for a time, but awoke to discover that the little minx had
unzipped me and was busily working on my tool to get it into readiness for
another adventure. But before I got mine, she wanted something from me, namely
my tongue, specifically my tongue on and inside her pussy which was fetchingly
displayed once she lifted the blanket from her lap. CC had taken the liberty of
removing her panties while taking care of business in the back of the bus and
was ready for a little bit of reciprocity on my part. Ever the gentleman, I
managed to get my head under that blanket and sniff around until I discovered
her smooth shaven pussy. I did some exploring and then some nuzzling to sort of
get an idea of what kind of pussy I was going to be eating for the rest of the
night.

	I got so wrapped up in my work that it was nearly daylight before I came
up for air. I guess all the excess that I'd experienced in the last week had
strengthed me so that I was able to perform at the top of my game for an
inordinate amount of time. CC later confessed that she nearly passed out on a
number of occasions; the one that got her closest was when I triple tongued her
pussy, one of my prime moves, while at the same time I twirled my finger around
inside her asshole which acted like a snapping turtle. I could tell already that
this young lady was going to go far in the porn industry provided she got a
break or two. Things got so heated that she washed my face on two occasions with
this stuff that squirted from her pussy and definitely did not taste or smell
like pee.

	This pretty thing had a repertoire of tricks that was simply amazing for
one so young, especially since our loins never once locked during that long
night we spent on the bus. Much later it dawned on me that I had never had the
opportunity of enjoying a return encounter with that magic mouth of hers. CC
made a solemn promise that once we arrived in the land of fruits and nuts, she
would take care of that little oversight. She turned out to be a woman of her
word, but there were many strange twists and turns before we were reunited and
had the chance to discover if that bus trip was just our imagination or had been
as good as we both remembered it to be.

	We arrived late that day. I had spent most of my time grabbing little
cat naps as the bus rolled across flat lands, desert, through a few mountain
passes and finally deposited us in the heart of La-La Land (I'm not sure about
the hyphen) as the locals sometimes referred to this place of sun, smog and sin.
During that day CC had struck up a friendship of sorts with that large fella
that had assisted her in gaining access to the restroom on the bus. I knew
something was in the offing when she hustled herself down to where I was located
and informed me she was changing seats. She also indicated that as far as our
little liaison was concerned, it was going to be put on hold while she and this
stranger, whose name was Jake, made their way to their own Golconda, to wit,
employment in the adult entertainment industry.

	When I inquired as to how I might get in touch with her in the future,
she gave me this big ole country girl smile and said, "It should be easy in a
month or so because by then I'm gonna be a big star in the movies and it should
be real easy for you to contact me through my agency." Then she kissed me on the
lips and stuck about a yard of tongue down my throat in the process, making my
knees buckle. All I could think of was that song that Ringo Starr made so
popular a few decades ago when he was going through his country music phase. I
wonder if CC ever heard it, then dismissed the matter from my consciousness.

	I must say that the bus depot was centrally located in the heart of the
city, such as it was. The first thing I noticed was that the place was overrun
with people doing their best to hustle anyone who looked in the slightest to be
from the country. Naturally I was accosted on numerous occasions as I made my
way out of this labyrinth and into the smoggy twilight.

	The place was a mess with papers and such covering the street. Most of
the people wandering about were speaking in foreign tongues and much of the
writing I could see was also in all kinds of scripts I'd never seen at home. If
I didn't know better, I might have thought myself to be in a foreign country,
one of those third world kinds that I occasionally hear spoken of.

	A few blocks further down, the paper was replaced by people, bedding
down for the evening. I was naturally taken aback at the squalor and lack of
friendliness on the part of those still standing. Not knowing any better, I had
walked the wrong way and now was among alcoholics, the homeless, the outlaws and
the just down and out that had either came here to find their fortune and
failed, or were born here and failed. It was not a pleasant place to find one's
self in.

	I made tracks in another direction, following my nose which was
currently being assailed by smells that one would not discuss in polite society.
I felt hemmed in by the tall buildings, most of them covered in dirt and a
mixture of solidified diesel oil fumes and bird droppings. The people walking
about were all kinds of sizes, shapes and colors, but they all looked the same
with this blank stare on their faces and their heads down as if looking for
coins that may have been dropped by others or in one case I actually witnessed,
a cigarette that was only half smoked. At that point I was ready to turn tail,
find that damned bus depot and make the trip back to the country.

	Somehow I managed to find shelter that night, but it proved to be just
another example of why one should never live in a place where most of the sky is
blocked out by tall, dirty piles of concrete and steel that seem to serve no
earthly function. On one side of me was a man who spent most of the time either
crying or screaming that there was something coming out of the walls to get him.
On the other came the sounds of people engaging in my favorite indoor sport,
interrupted regularly by the sound of the door opening and closing. I finally
got accustomed to the sounds surrounding me and so I lapsed into a deep sleep,
thankful for the fact that at least I was stretched out on something resembling
a mattress.

	The next morning I started out to find my way to this Northridge place
and then run down Doctor-Doctor Philo Plankton, whose address I had thanks to
the professor I talked to at the Wellington Wadsworth School of Animal
Husbandry. I remember that he had told me to say "Brando sent me" to the good
doctor, which was a private joke these two shared. It was approximately 25 miles
as the crow flies between where I was and where he was. So I hopped aboard one
of those large diesel spewing city buses and started out on my great adventure.
Three and a half hours and four transfers later I found myself some two miles
walking distance from Dr. Plankton's place. Had my wits been about me I would
have saved money by walking, except as it turned out, in many areas of this city
there were no sidewalks, another amazing fact about La-La land.

	Finally after a few missteps that involved two separate incidents with
stray dogs as well as a number of near misses as I ventured to cross the dreaded
PED Xs, which seemed to incite motorists into a frenzy, I arrived at my
destination, the home of Dr. Philo Plankton, a modern Renaissance man I was to
learn. He occupied a white three story building that resembled an Italian villa,
like the ones I saw in the travel magazines that I'd leaf through as I waited
for Rhonda to see her doctor, a process that usually was quite lengthy, but
never failed to immediately cure her of whatever was ailing her.I sometimes
wondered what kind of procedure the good doctor employed, but that was a matter
that was forever shrouded in secrecy, at least to me, her long suffering
husband.

	Finding this place was one thing, gaining admittance was another matter
altogether. This building was located behind a high fence the top of which was
guarded with razor wire, which seemed a little out of place considering the
surroundings. It was the only house in one of those dead-end streets that the
locals referred to as "cul-de-sacs", that's french for dead-end streets. Parked
in the circular area around the front of the "faux villa", that's also french
for fake villa, was a variety of expensive automobiles and these truck-like
abortions on wheels known as SUVs. It was fairly apparent that Philo's guests
were eating pretty high on the hog.

	As I walked back and forth in front of the gate to this house, trying to
figure out what I had to do to communicate with whoever was hiding behind that
gate, I noticed that I was being tracked by a camera located in one of the rolls
of razor wire. This was a new one on me; I'd once seen a camera like this at a
bank once, so I was not intimidated too much by its presence. I tried waving at
it in hopes of getting whoever was watching to respond to my greeting. When that
yielded no reaction, I approached the gate and noticed what looked like a
speaker box sitting just inside that metal barrier. Having exhausted my limited
course of action I decided to see what might occur if I spoke into this
contrivance. On a whim I said to the machine, "Brando sent me."

	I cooled my heels for a good ten minutes, despite repeating my message a
number of times. Then just as I was about to take my leave and find a place to
eat some lunch, a voice boomed from the box telling me to step away from the
gate and when it opened to take the driveway up to the parking lot and then make
a left. Now why I had to go to the parking lot was something I did not
understand, but I complied since it was his house and therefore his rules. I
finally arrived at the entrance to his house and was ushered in by a large
taciturn fellow who wasn't much on conversation, providing hand signals and
grunts as a means to guide me to the large airy room where Philo Plankton
awaited me.


				
				(To be continued)



Review This Story || Author: Jethro Jodhpur
Previous Chapter Back to Content & Review of this story Next Chapter Display the whole story in new window (text only) Previous Story Back to List of Newest Stories Next Story Back to BDSM Library Home