"Heaven"( MF FF enem span voy )[1/1] Dead. It didn't seem right. Sam thought he'd heard the doctor, distantly, pronounce him dead. Had it been a heart attack? For sure, they'd blame it on smoking. Or lack of exercise. Or diet. Which reminded him he was hungry - wouldn't cold shrimp and a beer taste good now! And when was "now" if he was dead? Where was he? "Sam. Sam. Open your eyes. You've had a rough time but it's all okay now," a voice reassured him. "Come on, Sam, it's okay." Sam opened his eyes. A man's face, looking a little concerned and a little bored. "Anything to eat around here?" Sam asked. The guy laughed. "Sure. And it's not fattening. And, it can't kill you." "You mean, you can't mean..." Sam didn't know how to say it. "You mean it's true?" He felt foolish. "Look, I could say you're back in the hospital, which you might believe for a while, or that you've been kidnapped by aliens, which you might believe for even longer, but I'm not that kind of guy." The man drew up. "I'm a greeter for the afterlife." Sam was numb. He sort of half-listened as the fellow explained more than he wanted to know about the afterlife. Where to stay, how to order things from catalogues, local customs such as how to politely dispose of the food you'd just eaten, who to talk to, how to tell where you were, and what to do at "night." Sam had a question. "I don't see any sun. Does it get dark?" "Ah, no. We in this area just call it night. We agree to sort of an eight hour quiet period in every twenty-four hours. It's something we're used to so... we keep it up," the guy explained. "That's when we read, have sex - usually - and write our stories." "Sex?" "Yes, and sometimes lots of it, but that's an individual matter," the man almost smirked. "If fact, it's almost night time now, and I'd like to get down to a little local meeting place to see if I can't arrange something for myself - and you too, if you're inclined." The man started off to the right. Sam followed. "Did you lead an active night life on earth?" "No. Well, not like that. My wife and I had a great relationship. Very active. But now I'm here and she's there, happily remarried, by the way. So I like some companionship, and there are three ladies I see more or less regularly. I hoping to meet one of them tonight, if someone else doesn't shag her first." Sam chuckled. He was beginning to like this place. The fellow's friend was waiting for him. True to his word, he introduced Sam to a woman before he left, explaining to her that Sam had just arrived. "I'm Marilyn," she announced. "Uh, did he explain that we sometimes pair off at night?" Sam cleared his throat, which seemed to be coated with moss. "Yes." Marilyn looked at him. Sam's fingers nervously touched his face. "Sam, are you worried about this?" After Sam confessed his unease, his concern about whether this was adultery, his excitement, he felt a lot better. He felt in control. He felt horny. Marilyn snuggled against him. "I like it when a man takes charge," she whispered. Sam put his arm around her and squeezed firmly and began to kiss her face. "Makes me feel like a little girl," Marilyn chirped. Sam began to stroke her breasts as he lightly licked near her eyes. "A bad little girl," Marilyn panted. Bells went off in Sam's head, alarms left by a hundred spanking stories. "Bad little girls get spanked," he said automatically. His hand went to her behind. "Yes. I deserve it," Marilyn simpered, wriggling into his hand. Sam wanted to turn her over, lift her skirt, fondle her ass, spank her, then fuck her. He'd daydreamed about this all his life, but never done it. An upturned bottom on his lap. Now, it was Heaven at last! Sam pushed Marilyn down over his lap. He raised her skirt, seeing the black panties, garter belt, and mesh stockings through a red haze. Marilyn raised her rump and Sam slowly pulled down her panties to her knees. "How many do I get, big boy?" asked Marilyn. "Let's see," mused Sam. his fingers running under the garter straps. "I think twenty for a warm-up. You count - or else." Marilyn breathed quickly. "Do you hit hard?" "Very heavy. But now it's just a starter, just to give you an idea what happens to bad girls," Sam put a leer in his voice. "Okay, I'm ready," announced Marilyn, raising her ass a bit, her crack a foot from his face. Sam was ready, too, his cock pushing up into her, the blood surging into his hand. What he'd always wanted. Now he'd do it! But he couldn't. Sam just couldn't. Sensing his hesitation, Marilyn urged him on: "It's okay. I used to play this game a lot with my boyfriends." Sam just couldn't. He froze. "Sam, honey, didn't you ever spank anybody?" "Well, no. I tried to talk my wife into it once, but she said no," Sam answered. "Oh, that explains it," said Marilyn. "That explains it?" "Yeh." Frustrated, Sam wanted to hit her. "How does it explain it?" "You can't do what you haven't done." Seeing his puzzlement, Marilyn elaborated "If you didn't do it during life, you can't do it here. That's the rule." "You mean, that because I went along with my wife's resistance to spanking, I get frustrated for all eternity? That's not fair!" Sam felt vastly put upon. "That's just the way it is. The only place it's different is Down There, where nobody can do what they did in life, they all have to do it differently." Marilyn sat up. She paused, then said "Well, if we're not going to..." "Wait a second, just wait a second," said Sam. "You've been spanked in your life, so why can't I spank you? Does everything take two experienced people?" Marilyn frowned. "I'm not sure. I know that I can only get spanked by a guy who has done it before. But some of my friends, the ones that had long relationships - very loving and sharing, you know? - they say one can teach the other. But I wouldn't know. Say, can't we go back to the meeting place?" Sam morosely agreed. They went back. Marilyn tried to cheer him up with a joke, but it didn't work. Then she brightened. "Hey Sam, do you like to watch?" Marilyn asked. "Probably," said Sam, "but I've never done it, so I couldn't anyway." Self-pity weighed down his heart. "No porn movies? Come on, lots of guys see porn movies." Marilyn looked skeptical. "Porn, yes, but does...sure, it must. " Sam was definitely perking up, in several ways. "I can see this 'experience' thing is a little tricky." As they entered, Marilyn headed for a door to a back room. Once in, Sam found himself one of an audience of twelve on chairs and around the walls, watching a couple on the bed. Or, rather, the woman was stretched out on the bed, arms tied at the four corners, and the man stood next to her, stroking her back. Then he reached behind the bed and lifted a soft flogger. He used it to stroke from her neck to her feet, then he began striking her gently with it, while whispering in her ear. The woman began to hum or moan - something in between. The man massaged her calves, then began flogging again, a little harder this time. He stopped hitting in order to kiss and bite her asscheeks, finishing with a tongue tease of her rim. When she began pushing her ass back to him, he got up and wove the flogger down her back and legs, then whipped it quickly on her ass. He continued, alternating soft strokes with blows. Her moans got louder. After about five minutes of watching the man slowly make love to the woman, Sam got restless. He had a woody and nothing to do with it. He didn't want to wank off here in public. Marilyn, who'd been covertly rubbing her nipple, asked "Want me to help with that?" Sam nodded. Her hand went to his cock. Sam worked his fingers to her crotch. Still watching the couple, they rubbed. To Sam's surprise, Marilyn came first. She must have been really turned on. Sam didn't stop, instead moving his fingers back from her clit to the labia and easing up on the pressure when he stroked. In a minute, Marilyn resumed pumping him and wriggling her hips. Still watching the couple (the man was penetrating the woman with some object), they climaxed quietly. Temporary relief, Sam thought. Ignoring the scene in front of him - which would have been enough to charge him up again during his life - he brooded about being unable to live out his fantasies. Marilyn, recovered from her orgasm, smiled at Sam and wandered over to an unattached man. She looked up, batted her eyes, and asked if he wanted to take care of a little girl. Sam went back to brooding. When he looked up, everyone was gone, except the couple who had put on the show. "Sorry we couldn't do much for you," the man called out. "Usually, people get off watching us, which we enjoy." "No," replied Sam, "it's my fault. I'm just preoccupied with the business of not doing anything new. Tell me, don't you find it depressing to repeat everything?" "It's not exactly like that," the woman spoke up. "Things are always a little different. They always were. A different mood, a faster tempo, a more varied touch...it's not the same two nights in a row." "You do this every night?" Sam asked. "About," the man replied. "I should explain that we never performed before a live audience in life. I once made a video of my wife, and she would service other men and tell me about it, but we never did anything like this. Of course, I don't know everything - she still occasionally springs surprises on me after one hundred years!" Sam went stiff. "Surprises?" The woman chortled. "My little closet. They are sort of like special clothes I wear for events. I like to change things around, to keep him on his toes." She leaned into her husband with affection. "She must have done a lot more than I ever knew about," said the man. "I probably should be mad, but I'm actually grateful. Could be dull here otherwise. Same stuff over and over." "But I thought it had to be stuff you'd done before, both of you." Sam hoped for the right reply. "It does, usually," said the wife. "But what is it that you've 'done before'? In our case, variety was a constant. We always changed things around during our lives, so we're just doing the same now." All of a sudden, Sam was lonely for his wife Jean. Thinking of her face, the way she moved, her slow smile made him ache. He wanted to see her. "Is there some way I can see how my wife is doing in life?" Sam inquired. "Oh my yes," the woman said. "Just concentrate on her, relax your mind and focus on her, and you'll see what she's doing. For most people, it works right away. If not, try sort of praying to her. Well, we'll be going now." "Right. Nice to meet you. Hope to see you again sometime." Sam waved good-bye. Sam sat down in a chair and closed his eyes. He rested his fingers on his knee and let his mind stay near Jean. After a few fits, his mind settled down, wandering around images of her. Then, something more lively started. He could see Jean in the kitchen, moving around making coffee, talking to someone, distracted. Sam felt for her. She was clearly distraught. Here he was in a good place but she wasn't. They must both be lonely, but at least he could get companionship, if he wanted. Sam watched Jean with longing and regret. She turned to talk. She was complaining of being tense and constipated. Sam knew she didn't like the sleeping pills or the laxatives. He saw two hands begin to massage Jean's shoulders, easing the tension. Hey! that was his job. Jean relaxed, being pulled back and forth with the rub. A woman's face leaned next to Jean's ear. It was Wendy from next door. She and Jean had been close on and off since Wendy's divorce. Wendy dug her fingers into the muscles along Jean's neck. She could feel the sore spots slide and jump under her touch. She moved up Jean's neck, first left, then back, then right. Wendy worked down again to the shoulders, then along the backbone, through Jean's blouse. Jean became very relaxed and drowsy. She thought of Sam and all the backrubs they'd given each other. Now, when would she ever get one again? This felt so good, she was so grateful to Wendy. Wendy glanced at the kitchen window. No one was there, but she felt watched. "Come on, Jean, you should lie down a bit." "No," said Jean, "don't stop. It feels so good." "That's all right, silly," said Wendy. "We won't stop, I just want you to get off your feet. Come to the bedroom." She maneuvered Jean down the hall and onto the bed. Wendy turned down the light. "Now just relax and think about water or orchids or something nice. First, though, we have to get these clothes off you so they won't get wrinkled." Wendy unbuttoned Jean's blouse, chatting softly, then carefully folded it on the bureau. She unfastened the skirt, leaving Jean in bra and half-slip, and laid the skirt on top of the blouse. "Now just sink into the bed, Jean, and think of something good," said Wendy, lightly pushing Jean down. Wendy resumed the neckrub, adding a tour down the backbone and up the ribs. Beginning at the sternum, she rolled the skin between her fingers all the way up to the hairline. Jean oohed and groaned along the way. Then Wendy leaned on her palms, squashing Jean at the shoulders, then lower in a series of pushes. "God that feels good!" said Jean. Wendy began massaging above the hipbone, going deep into the soft tissue. Jean tensed. "Ah, that's sore. I guess because I'm constipated." Wendy paused and offered "You ought to take an enema." "No thanks," said Jean quickly, "I had a bad experience once with a baby-sitter - I was a child - and I've never taken an enema since." Wendy considered. "I give enemas all the time to my daughter Elizabeth. Do you mean that you don't think they do any good or do you just have an emotional reaction against them?" Wendy resumed the backrub. Jean was embarrassed. "I guess they would help..." "I don't think you even know how you feel, it was all so long ago," Wendy asserted. "Time for you to find out." Jean began to get up in alarm. "No, I really don't want an enema." Wendy pressed her back down firmly. "I'm not talking about giving you an enema, at least not now. My idea is to give Elizabeth an enema and have you gauge your reaction to that. If you don't get bothered by hers, you probably won't get bothered by yours." Wendy left the room, called her house, and asked Elizabeth to come over, bringing the enema equipment. After some discussion, ending with a firm command from Wendy, Elizabeth agreed, and Wendy put down the phone. "Wendy," Jean started, "I guess I don't really feel up to this, what with Sam's death, so if you don't mind..." "Shut up," snapped Wendy. "Don't go into the self-pity routine with me! If you are going to act like you're twelve years old, then we'll put your nose in the corner. Now," she went on more gently, "you need to get out of yourself, break a few routines, learn something new, connect to people, rather than mope around. When you have a problem, like constipation, we'll solve it, not just whine about it. Do you understand me?" At that moment, Elizabeth arrived, carrying the enema equipment. Wendy directed her into the bathroom to fill the bag. "Where's the lubricant, Jean?" asked Wendy. "On Sam's side table, over there," replied Jean, embarrassed. Wendy picked up the tube and turned as Elizabeth came back from the bathroom. "Get undressed. You don't want to take a chance on getting your clothes wet." Jean was embarrassed for Elizabeth and she watched with interest as the girl undressed, progressively revealing her developing body, with swells for breasts and wisps of hair and slow curves to her coltish legs. "How Sam would like this!" Jean thought. "He was always interested in sex and enemas and liked to watch the girls." Jean was certainly right. Sam was beside himself with excitement as he peeped in on the girl and the women. When Wendy bent Elizabeth over the bed, ass towards Jean, Sam thought he would shoot, but he calmed himself. He didn't want to miss any of this. Wendy greased her finger and punctured her daughter's anal ring, plunging in, then rotating. The girl squirmed and wriggled but didn't object. After a few in-and-out strokes, Wendy slowly withdrew her finger and reached for the enema tube. Jean became intrigued. What was going on here? There was a strong undercurrent of sensuality between Wendy and Elizabeth, a little intake of breath when a hand rested on the ass, a lean that brought a breast lightly against the back, and that tyrannical burst by Wendy directed at Jean herself! As Wendy filled up Elizabeth's rear, Jean noticed a glint in Wendy's eye and excited, quick movements of her hands. Jean didn't think she wanted Wendy in charge of her right now. When the enema was all in, Wendy had her daughter hold it for a few minutes, producing squirms and moans that finally did send Sam shooting over the edge. He didn't even notice when her mother let Elizabeth go to the bathroom. Jean did, though. She had an interesting notion - it wouldn't be right to act on it, of course - but she did get a little pleasure out of thinking about it. Jean was startled out of her reverie by the sound of the toilet flushing. Elizabeth emerged. Jean thought there was something odd about her. As Wendy thanked her and said to go home, Jean noticed the circles under Elizabeth's eyes, the still puffy labia, then the flush on her chest. The girl must have masturbated as she relieved herself. Jean had never been able to fake an orgasm for Sam because she'd never been able to create that flush. So Elizabeth got off on enemas. Jean glanced at Wendy, whose face has the small satisfied set of someone who has produced just what she wanted. Suddenly, Jean decided to follow through on her notion. "Wendy, you'll be glad to know that Elizabeth's enema doesn't bother me," Jean explained. "However, I don't think it shows much of anything about me. Why, she's just a young girl." Wendy showed her surprise. "Why...well...what..." Surprised awareness spread over her face. "Do you want me to take an enema?" "I don't know," said Jean, "do you think that might show anything?" "Of course," said Wendy firmly, and she began to take her clothes off. "Well, it might show something," agreed Jean. "Here, I'll plump up a few pillows for you to lean on." Wendy laid herself on the bed, over the pillows. "Now, Jean, what you do..." "Don't worry," cut in Jean, "I watched you. Just be quiet and let me handle this. First, I need to get your hands out of the way." She pulled Wendy's wrists together on her back, then used Wendy's bra to tie them together. Wendy started to object, then thought better of it. Jean lubricated her finger. "This one's for you, Sam," she said to herself. Sam, recovering, was fascinated. What was she going to do? Jean parted Wendy's ass cheeks with her left hand. She pushed slowly but firmly at the anus with the greased finger of her right hand. "Here goes, Wendy." Jean twisted her finger slightly and it began to slide in. Wendy tensed. Feeling wicked, Jean plunged in another inch before gradually withdrawing half as much. Wendy tensed more. Jean plunged her finger as far as she could into the ass. Wendy bucked and kicked her legs in reaction. Jean pulled her finger back out. "I guess we'll have to do something about those legs," she said. Going over to the bureau, Jean dug up a pair of pantyhose and a scarf. She used them to tie Wendy's feet to the frame. "Now, where were we? Oh, yes. Your enema is going to help show me how good enemas are for me. Do you take enemas a lot or do you just give them?" asked Jean. "Ah, I give Elizabeth enemas every once in a while." replied Wendy. "I can see that you do have an enema thing going. Kind of sexy. Do you masturbate afterwards as well?" ask Jean. Wendy was nonplused. Jean slapped her rump. "Come on, now, tell the truth, give it up." She slapped again, harder. "Yes," Wendy got out in a strained voice. "Yes, I sometimes masturbate afterwards." "I thought so. And what did you have planned for me?" inquired Jean in a mocking voice. "I just thought it would help. Really," pleaded Wendy. Jean pretended to consider. "Hmm. A backrub. Then the bedroom. Then a live sexy enema. Then a little woman to woman flush. Practically a one- woman health clinic." "I was trying to help. You're upset, not yourself," explained Wendy. "Wendy, dear, I don't mind your trying to get into my pants. I'm sort of flattered. I gather widows don't count on these sort of offers. I think you wanted to dominate me, like you do Elizabeth. Only with me, you'd get sex as well. And maybe you will, someday. But," said Jean as she leaned down, putting her face near Wendy's, "I don't like to be tricked - and I don't like to be lied to." She reached out and squeezed Wendy's nipple, hard. "And you didn't tell the truth, did you?" Jean squeezed harder. Wendy gasped. "Yes. You're right. Please stop." Jean stopped squeezing. "I'm glad to get that straightened out. Next, what are we going to do with you?" Jean ran her finger down Wendy's crack, rimmed a bit at her asshole, then rubbed a pussy lip slowly between her forefinger and thumb. "Pretty wet. I think you like this a lot. Now, why isn't your asshole tighter? Do you give yourself enemas? queried Jean. "No" was Wendy's reply, which earned her five hard slaps on the ass. "Not a complete answer, girl. If you don't give yourself enemas, what have you been putting in your ass? I shouldn't have to say all this, you know." Jean felt completely in control, powerful. She spanked Wendy some more. "Ow" exclaimed Wendy. "I might use my finger back there when I masturbate." "Liar! You shove a dildo up here don't you?" Jean accompanied her words with the insertion of her finger up Wendy's ass. "No, I don't" shrieked Wendy. "You know what the penalty is for lying, you little slut? You get my vibrator. And you know where." Jean went to the third drawer of the bureau and brought out the vibrator from it's hiding place. Jean stuck it right in Wendy's face. "After we're done, you're going to clean it off, good as new," Jean's hissed. Sam couldn't believe this. Jean was getting off on a power trip, on dominance, on bondage. He thought - he hoped - this meant his future was brightening. Did this mean he could dom Jean? Who knew? At worst, he could replay this one a few times - in person. Jean sat in front of Wendy's face. She leaned over Wendy, parted her cheeks, and slid the vibrator in roughly. Then she turned it on. Jean spanked Wendy's ass, then stroked her pussy lips, circling around Wendy's clit. "I'll bet that livens things up in there," Jean thought. Widowhood was looking up. Jean reached between Wendy's legs and pulled up a pillow. She untied Wendy's left leg, and watched as Wendy scissored the pillow between her legs. Wendy began humping, trying to get more friction between her crotch and the pillow. "That'll keep her interested, for quite a long time," thought Jean. "In for a dime," she said to herself, and pulled off her slip and panties. She settled down right in front of Wendy's nose. "Now, honeybitch," said Jean "you know what's next don't you?" No answer, so Jean whapped Wendy's rump a few more times. Jean held Wendy's chin in her hand. "Please look at me, sweetheart." Wendy looked up. Jean kissed her briefly, softly on the lips, then slapped her face gently. "Lick me," Jean said. Wendy's tongue came out and laved Jean. As the sensation shot from her clit to her nipples, Jean felt a surge of affection for Wendy. "Not as good as Sam, yet," she whispered, "but you're just getting started, baby." Sam settled back and grinned. Heavenly.