House of Holes (4 page)

Luna’s eyes were closed. She nodded. Chuck took out the barrette and leaned and kissed her on her ear. Then, when Luna was almost swept away by the music on her right leg—she could hear it perfectly—suddenly she felt another man’s hands on her left leg.

“Wait, who are you?” she asked.

The hands held her leg very firmly and confidently. “I am Nikolai.”

“Nikolai who?”

“Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov, the very famous Russian com-poser,” the voice said. “I will be playing a piano transcription of my very famous
Scheherazade.
”

“Where?”

“On your nude left leg. Starting now.”

The two composers began fingering and squeezing her legs with great intensity, and then, as if by mutual agreement, they both seized her legs and gave a strong but gentle pull, sliding her farther down in her chair. “Woopsie,” said Luna.

“Don’t worry,” said Chuck softly. “They’re just pulling you down so that you’re fully seated in the pussy cradle.”

“Of course, the pussy cradle,” said Luna, as her pussy made firm and not unpleasant contact with a curved item covered in black leather and shaped a little like a bicycle seat. It fit her just right, and the two composers now began pulling and stroking with a soft sort of insistent rhythm.

Luna rocked herself into it and she heard Chuck make a slight growling sound as he traced his fingertips over her neck.

“Chuck,” she said, “seriously, what’s going on here? This is getting down to the nitty-gritty.”

Chuck laughed. “It’s what happens at the House of Holes.”

Luna thought, Why not? She let her head fall back again till she could feel some of Chuck’s interesting groin bundle through his black pants. It pushed against the side of her head. Just then her attention was diverted by something stiff and warm tracing the curve of the arch of her foot.

“Mr. Borodin, is that you?” she said.

“Yes, that is my cock,” said Alexander Borodin. “It is very hard and very famous.”

“I see,” she said. “It tickles a little. And you, Mr. Rimsky-Korsakov?”

“One moment!” said Rimsky. “And now, my cock, too!”

There was another resilient stiffness against her toes. Luna pushed back with both feet and felt both cocks standing hard against the composers’ taut bellies. They both seemed surprisingly fit for musicians.

“How’s the music going for you?” Chuck murmured into her hair.

“It feels good to have two stiff Russians pushing against the soles of my feet,” said Luna, smiling up at him.

“Good,” said Chuck. Then convulsively he whispered some-thing in her hair that she didn’t catch.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.”

“No, Chuck, please tell me what you said.”

“I said, ‘I wish I could fuck you in the mouth with my cock and come all over your pretty lips.’”

“Woo, Chucky.” Luna got a melty feeling in her shoulders. She turned and squashed her face against his lap, inhaling his warm cocoa-bean smell through his dress pants. The smell went right to her head. “Hurry, because this pussy cradle is feeling way too good.”

Out flopped the enormity of Chuck’s dick, poking stiffly between his white shirttails. It came to rest on her lips.

“Jesus, that’s a nice dick, Chuck. My god. Rimsky, Alex, don’t stop!” She bucked against the pussy cup. “Nnnnnng! This is way too good!”

She threw her head back and opened her mouth for Chuck’s cockness. “Fuck my mouth!” she said.

Borodin and Rimsky-Korsakov were squeezing her calves and doing mad cocky things at her toes. “My penis is coming right now!” moaned Borodin. “My penis is coming, too!” said Rimsky-Korsakov. “Oh god, Chuck, I can’t hold back much longer,” said Luna. “Stuff my mouth with that fucking beast!” She ground her pussytwat against the crotchy holder, lifting her hips high to hold the moment in suspense. “Nnnnng-aaaaa!” She let her orgasm wave crash down just as she felt two hot blasts of white Russian semen drizzle against her toes.

“Phew,” she said, breathing deeply, but she wanted more. She pulled her legs from the holes. “Now really fuck me, Chuck. No pussy cradle. I want to feel you inside.”

Chuck turned the chair around. “You ready?” She nodded, feeling the Russian sperm cooling on her feet. Chuck’s thundertube of dickmeat started sliding in. It pushed her frilly doilies of labial flesh aside, and it kept on going till it couldn’t go any farther. She grabbed his hips and pulled him in, and then he pulled out, leaving her empty and waiting, and then he slammed into her train station again. His cock train was commuting in and out of her pussyhole, filling and emptying it by turns, and she loved it.

She heard him say, “Here it comes, oh, here it comes,” almost in a whimper, and then he made a strange guttural cry that sounded like a tree cracking before it fell, and then a sound like a monster in a Japanese monster movie, and she felt a flowering of deep warmth inside her, and the sense of hot sperm that surrounded the prow of his still thrusting peckerdickcock.

“Thank you for the lovely concert of Russian piano music,” Luna said.

Pendle Interviews for a Job

P
endle read about nuclear waste in
The Rooster
while he was waiting for the woman at the burrito store to make his burrito and wrap it in foil and put it in a paper bag so that he could go home and eat it while listening to the rest of a
Scientific American
podcast on the physiology of romance. In the
Rooster
personals an ad caught his eye. It said, “
ARE YOU
able to enter an alternative universe?
ARE YOU
friendly?
CAN YOU
interview people about their sexual experiences? Good money, pleasant living quarters, must like naked people and be willing to relocate.” There was a small round black circle at the bottom of the ad—no address or phone given.

Pendle peered closely at the ad, and suddenly he felt a powerful air current pulling his hair and the whole of his head downward. He was vacuumed down into the black circle. He lost consciousness for a moment, and when he came to he was in Lila’s office. Lila was the director of the House of Holes. She was large and pretty in bifocals, about fifty, with lots of loose light-brown hair. Pendle told her that he was there about the job in
The Rooster
.

“Ah, we filled that position yesterday,” said Lila. “But just for the heck of it, why don’t you give me a sample of your interview technique.”

“I’d probably just say, ‘So tell me what happened.’ People seem to open up to me. It’s been true my whole life. I don’t know why, exactly.”

“It’s your eyebrows, I think,” said Lila. “I see a forgivingness and a directness there. Now what if you were a client and I interviewed you? What if I said, ‘Be honest, why are you here?’ ”

“I guess I’m here to see women naked.”

“This is an unusual place, and it’ll cost you a lot of money,” said Lila. “I mean a lot, lot, lot of money.”

“That’s too bad,” said Pendle, “because right now I don’t have a lot of money.”

“Maybe you better come back when you do,” said Lila.

“How much money do I need?”

“How much nakedness do you want? Be honest. So few people are able to tell the truth.”

“Let’s see.” Pendle took a deep breath and then poofed it all out. “I think I need twenty-four horny nude women at the same time.”

“Twenty-four?” said Lila. “I don’t often tell people this, but you know that a man can really only handle one horny nude woman at a time. Maybe two. Even with two, it’s like that trick where you have to circle your head and pat your stomach. Do you want to reconsider? Think.”

Pendle closed his eyes and visualized his dream of desire. He didn’t need twenty-four horny women, he realized, only eight. He wanted some of them to have merry little breasts, and some huge soft heavy sad hangers, and he wanted some of them to be fairly old and some of them to be fairly young, and some to have throaty brunette voices and some wispy chirpy blond voices. He wanted them all to be on their knees on couches and chairs with their asses up and ready and their slippy sloppy fuckfountains on display. He’d walk in front of them holding his generous kindly forgiving dick, saying, “Do you want this ham steak of a Dr. Dick that’s so stuffed with spunk that I’m ready to blow this swollen sackload all over you?” And they’d all say, “Yes, Mr. Fuckwizard, we want that fully spunkloaded meatloaf of a ham steak of a dick.”

Pendle explained all this to Lila as well as he could. “They’d be supercharged and overdosed with horniness,” he said, “be-cause for eight days beforehand each one of them would have been imagining that eight guys were in front of her staring at her and pumping off their meatsticks, and each guy who’s pumping his meatstick would have been imagining for eight days that he was in a room with eight lovely ultrahorny women, and those women would be imagining that they’re in a room with eight ultrahorny meatsticks, and so on.”

“Gee whiz.” Lila reached for a calculator. “So far your dream involves slightly more than four thousand people,” she said.

“If it does, it does,” Pendle replied. “Actually my dream involves every woman in the world.”

“Ah, does it?”

“Yes. I want every woman in the world to see my dick. I want you to see it, for instance.”

“Not right now,” said Lila.

“You could make a movie of me holding my dick and then project it on the moon. I’d like that.”

“That’s not really our style,” said Lila, “but I like your ambition. Tell you what. Daggett! Daggett will give you a twenty-minute tour now, so you have a sense of what you’re in for, and then why don’t you go away and earn, say, thirty-five hundred dollars somehow, and come on back and we’ll give you a work-study position here. That’s a steep discount. How does that sound?”

“Good.”

Daggett gave Pendle a brief tour of the House of Holes, and then Pendle went back to where he lived. He spent three weeks earning money at a landscaping company, spreading black mulch and digging holes and spreading sod. A woman came by in a van sometimes with flats full of purple flowers. She spent all morning planting the purple flowers, and then she washed the dirt off her hands and rested. Her name was Loxie.

“Why are you working here?” Loxie asked Pendle one day. “You look like your mind’s somewhere else.”

“I’m earning money to go to the House of Holes,” said Pendle. “It’s this incredible special place where sexual things happen and you get to see women naked. But it costs a lot, lot, lot of money. So I’m saving up.”

Loxie was puzzled. “You have to go to a special house to see a woman naked?” she said. “Can’t you just walk up to a woman and say, ‘I’d like to see you naked?’ ”

Pendle was scandalized. “No, that would be rude. Plus it wouldn’t work. And anyway I wouldn’t do that unless I wanted to become boyfriend and girlfriend with her, and that sometimes leads down a long and winding road, if you know what I mean.”

Loxie shook her head. “Whoa, tell me about it.” Then she said, “Do women go to the House of Holes, not to work there as naked ladies but just to go? To meet a man?”

“Sure they do,” said Pendle. “It’s for everybody. Everybody when they’re in that late-night New York state of mind. And any guy who brings a woman gets a fifty-percent discount.”