Posted by hisdinner on June 07, 2004 at 17:47:04:
The Stepford Country Club Membership Drive and Picnic
Bob and Bambi had barely left the Stepford Arms Country Club when her platinum curls disappeared from view and Bob started taking the turns too wide.
"Oh yeah, bitch, suck those seat covers right through my ass!" Bob's face was flushed and sweaty as his animatronic baybee complied. The folks running the jogging path were a bit bemused when they saw Bob driving wildly up the shoreline road. They recognized that "I'm getting the best blowjob of my life" look when it swerved by them. But they drew up short and had to jog in place to keep their heart rates up (well, the men did, anyway) as Bob's car careened across the spit of land and over the cliff to the steely blue Atlantic far below.
Bob, conscientious engineer to the end, dictated his last memo into his cell and hit the forward button to Lab 4 just as the nose of his Jag hit the water. As his Newife(R) tugged and pulled the faux leopard skin seat cover right out of what remained of Bob, he cried, "They don't understand hyperbole!!"
Over drinks that night in the library, back at the Club, Brad shook his head and glared at Frank. They'd just played back Bob's parting message for the third time. Both men were in their golf clothes, pastel shirts clashing with the dark rich greens and mahogany of the room. Brad put down his tumbler of scotch.
"I thought you said you'd used the latest chaos theory razzmatazz to get our girls to recognize a fucking idiom when they heard one!"
Frank scowled and pointed over his shoulder. "Got that Jap science team working on it right now, Mr. President," he said. "They agreed to waive their last month's salary for this morning's little accident."
"Damn straight their work's on the house right now." Brad took his tumbler to the sidebar for a fresh up. "If those Newives need one thing, it's how to fucking take direction from their goddamned husbands without eviscerating them, DAMN!"
Brad's hand shook and the ice tinkled, and Frank could feel his toes curling as his package sort of retreated north to hide for a spell.
"Yeah, Brad. You got a good point there. But that's not what we were scheduled to meet on tonight, you know. We got the picnic coming up, and four separate proposals."
The men eyed each other over their scotch. They sipped in unison. Their eyes met. The mantel clock began to toll 8 PM. It was Frank who broke into the widest grin.
"Four, the hell you say!" Brad chuckled, and reached across to punch Frank's biceps. "Four!"
Frank nodded and indicated a stack of folders on the reading table. "Come on, Mr. President, time for us to present these to the board."
The men strolled down the hall on a plush old carpet and into the boardroom. Most of the board was there already, glued to their individual computer terminals, inspecting the latest upgrades available from the lab. They ranged around the wide teak table, twelve men in all, each face glowing green and ghastly as they pointed and clicked on teardrop versus round breasts, or the new bare model cunts, never need shaving...unless you're into that sort of kink, of course.
When Brad took his place at the head of the long oval table, Frank flanked him, folders in hand.
"Moment of silence for Bob?" Fourteen heads canted slightly down. George Elliot, near the far end, stifled a chuckle. Thirteen heads swiveled and regarded him, and George said, "What? What?"
"You know the Lab 4 boys are on this little machine malfunction thing," Brad began, nodding to Frank, who chimed in.
"Yeah, said they'd have an upgrade ready by Saturday, and to bring your wives in anytime after 9 am," Frank smiled. "But now, as your Board VP, I have the pleasure to bring you..... this year's applications for the Fourth of July membership drive and picnic!"
"Woooooo Hooooo!" Ned Armstrong sat forward, eyes big above, instant boner below-- as did most of the men.
"Hit it Frank! Who's vying for a spot this year?"
Frank held up the four folders. "We have four candidates for Country Club membership this year. The first is Neil Johnson, recent transfer in from the west coast branch of our nuts 'n bolts section."
The men nodded. They all knew Neil. He'd come up through the ranks like a rocket, and his wife Selena was the sweetest Mexican sugar they'd seen in years. George waved for attention.
"I just don't get it. That little Johnson bitch is sex on a stick. Why's he want to trade her in?"
"Bambinos." Ben Randall said. "My Gina says that all Selena ever talks about is having a herd of 'em."
The men nodded again. Can't have that, kids ruin a girl's figure and ruin a sex life too.
"Who's next up, Frank?" John Silver, the director of animation tech, passed Neil's folder to the next man. Each board member would consider the application based on his own branch's particular problems. The folder contained some very candid shots of Selena, as well as a description of the mods Neil had requested so far. All assuming that his membership request was granted, of course. And judging from the looks on all the faces, Selena's body was going to get Neil the nod.
"Vick Granger. Vick has been waiting to petition us 'til his wife, Kira, could get back from her modeling tour," Frank said, passing the folder to Brad for a first look.
"Here we go again!" said George, scratching his head. "Now when I applied, I didn't have to explain myself, my god! My Doris stopped dieting after the twins were born! But this girl...kee-Riist! Look at her. These are shots from fucking Playboy and Penthouse!"
"Uh.. George," whispered Dan, "I heard his wife wanted a divorce."
Up at the head of the table, Frank waved the folder for application number three.
"Marshall Blanchard. His wife's name....is....Yvette." Several of the men began nodding and marking their ballots. Blanchard was the newest scientist down in the skin response labs. He was the genius behind the resilient, responsive Newcunt(pp) substance. It was slick as a sexkitten all night long, and gripped like the tightest leather glove...early test demonstrations had left them all panting to have one in their own Newives. They all wanted to stay in his good graces, and be the first to get their wives the Newcunt upgrades. He was a picky bastard. Several hands shot up, but Brad silenced them with a wave.
"Hear the last application first, guys, then I have a small proposal of my own to make."
The room buzzed with anticipation as the guys asked each other what was up. No one seemed to know what Brad had in mind. Frank cleared his throat and nodded to Dan and Jim, on either side of George.
"It's from Steve and Mark Peterson, guys. A double."
"What the Fuck?" George tried to leap out of his chair, but Dan and Jim restrained him.
The board shifted their glances from George to Frank, and back again. They were baffled.
"Steve Troma and Mark Peterson?" Tom Braithwhite asked. "Those two new guys in Eye Lab?"
Frank nodded, trying to maintain a neutral air, but oh, this application had his cock twitching like a snake in a frying pan.
"Yeah, Steve and Mark have been dating the, uh, twins," Frank said, nodding in George's direction. "They'd like a double wedding. But they wanted Sarah and Cindy as Newives right from the start."
George sank back into his seat, stunned. Sure, he'd known about the two eye guys dating his little sweethearts. Daddy's darlings! Those guys were a little old to be sniffing around his little angels, but he couldn't blame them. His girls were the cutest little teens between here and Dolcett, California! But remodeling them? No! It made no sense at all! And...and...the picnic, too? George's mouth got dry and he squirmed to hide the bulge in his pants as he contemplated this truly indecent proposal.
"What the hell! They're just 16! You can't TELL me they need a remodel that soon!"
Brad shook his head, smiling gently at George. "Ah, George, ol' buddy. They might be just sixteen, but they've been enjoyed by every man in Stepford by now. At least twice!"
The room exploded in guilty laughter as each man eyed the fellow next to him and exchanged knowing nudges and winks.
"Sure thing, they need Newcunts and they need 'em now!"
"Who could be more delicious than the twins?"
The boardroom cheered unanimously, and all around the table, ballots were erased and remarked. Brad shouted for attention and as the boardroom quieted, he held out his hands, palms up, as if offering something delicious to the men.
"Guys, we've had a banner year here in the Labs, oh sure, a minor setback or two---but hey, you got to admit, Bob went out with a BANG!"
The guys laughed and nodded, eager to hear what the president of their corporation had in mind.
"In the past we've selected only one a year, one lucky guy for membership, because our labs could just not work fast enough to make Newives for everyone, all at once. Right?"
"Right!" The men agreed in unison. This was feeling better by the minute.
"But heck, we can do it this year, and all these guys who applied? Hey, they're a big part of the reason we can have...... a FIVE girl ROAST!"
The room exploded. Men bear-hugged and backslapped and swore in jubilation as they realized that their old customs were as outdated as ..... well, as their wives! If they could produce Newives in numbers, then why not do it. All around the room, the men sat back and contemplated what that would mean for the barbecue. Five! Five luscious girls, and the twins as the dual crown roasts of all time. Whew... It was a short vote, unanimous, and then all the guys rushed home to get their jollies out. Frank shouted at the top of the steps down to the parking lot, "Hey guys! Don't forget! Learn from old Bob who died with a whole new appreciation of faux leopard skin upholstery. A Newife does exactly what she's told!"
It was a perfect day for a picnic when the sun rose on the Fourth. All around Stepford, the men rose early, anticipating a day of beer and sex and gluttony. For Steve and Mark, and Marshall, Neil and Vick, though, this Independence Day had a double meaning. They rose with their wives and girlfriends, and fucked them harder than they'd ever been fucked before. Selena refused to give Neil a blowjob, wanting every drop of seed for making kiddies, of course. This time, Neil relented and instead, he pulled her long satiny legs up over her head and plunged in deep, wondering if the Newcunt would really be twice as tight and sweet. And how Selena would look, straddling the next pole she would meet. "Or, meat," chuckled Neil, as he injected her deep.
The twins and Steve and Mark had just finished their usual foursome, the girls all giggly and decorated with pearly drops from head to pussy. "Do you guys ever QUIT!" asked Sarah, as she brushed her long blond hair. "Was gonna ask you the same thing, slut," said Steve, remembering the sight of the twins, entertaining the Rotary club at the Denny's just down the street. Definitely ready for a new model, he thought. Cindy's giggle was muffled as her mouth enclosed her fiancé's cock.
"Mmm, meat," she said. "Oh...yeah!" Mark agreed, caressing her rump. "Meat."
The doorbells rang at each candidate's house at precisely 7 am. The men answered the doors to pairs of burly lab techs carrying chef's twine and leering expressions. At Marshall Blanchard's house they didn't even have to strip her. Yvette was still splayed out in the rumpled bed, wearing nothing but the pout she'd put on when Marshall plowed her ass against her most tearful protestations. Two miles away at Vick's the tech team held the screaming supermodel as Vick tenderized Kira one last time. Then all the girls were bound, kicking and squealing, and carted to the country club.
Five hours later, the men strolled with their NewivesR between the smoky barbecues. Five girls turned almost in unison in the center of the patio. Selena, already burnished golden, arched over the coals, her nipples drizzled and sizzling, her belly rounded, but only with stuffing. Yvette's meaty carcass had just been transferred to the block, where skilled chefs chopped her juicy body into steaming, aromatic cuts. Kira's long, lean model's body had demanded the utmost care. The cooks had injected infused oils into her breasts, now round and golden. Her cheekbones retained their contours, and her lips pouted seductively around the spit. Dead center in the patio, a crowd had gathered to watch the twins turn. Sarah and Cindy had never been so close. The chefs had rigged a beautiful circular spit for them, and now they cooked mouth to pussy, pussy to mouth in an endless circle of sweet girlmeat. Even George conceded that they'd never looked better.
The Newives attended their menfolk, clustering close, and obligingly knelt or bent forward across the picnic tables as their husbands watched the five girls roast. Newives gasped and moaned and shuddered and cried out the ecstasies with which they had been programmed, and the men grinned and fucked them and all was good. But, alas, poor George was in the throes of passion. He gasped and grunted and begged his Newife, saying, "Oh honey! I'm almost there, do it!! Do it! Make me explode!"
And poor old George. He lost his head.