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The Fish Tank
The Fish Tank
by Couture
email: couture_writes@hotmail.com
(MF, caution)
Please do not read if under 18 years of age or offended by
sexually explicit and situations.
(c) 2002 Couture
***********
Mark was very happy driving along in his blue 99' Buick
Regal. He was so happy that he was attempting to sing
along with Eminem, and not just the chorus either. He was
doing a wonderful job of butchering the song, but he didn't
care. It was a few days until his one-year anniversary as
a Kirby salesman and he only needed one more sale to make a
hundred and the large bonus it entailed. One more sale -
he could do that in his sleep.
"I know that you got a job Ms. Shady, but your husblah-
blah-bla-blah-bla-blah," Mark attempted to sing, finally
giving up on the verse and resorted to making up his own
song.
"I'm gonna sell you a vacuum Ms. Shady. Cuz I na-na-na-
need the money. So let me see one hundred vacuums equals a
bonus. And I really really needz a bonus." Mark laughed,
but then something caught his eye. He stopped the car,
looked back in the rear view mirror to make sure no cars
were coming, then backed up to the intersection.
"Desmonda drive." He looked on the map and noticed there
wasn't a Desmonda drive listed. Jackpot. This was Mark's
style. As a traveling salesman, he learned early on, it
paid to take the less traveled path. Let the other
salesmen compete with one another on Main Street, while he
went to homes that had never seen a traveling salesman,
much less learned how to slam the door in one's face.
The only thing was Desmonda drive looked like a miss,
instead of a hit. There didn't appear to be any houses on
this lone street. He drove to the end of the street to
turn around, and spotted a small white house to the right
of the cul de sac. It was a well kept house with burgundy
shutters; the yard could have used a good mowing.
"La la la la. La la la la. La la la la la la la la lah."
Mark sang the only part of the song he could do a decent
job on, while he pulled the Kirby 9000 out of the
trunk along with the trunk of accessories for the vacuum.
The trunk also contained dirt, marbles, and even a bowling
ball used to demonstrate the machine.
This was one of the reasons most of the Kirby salesmen were
men, and at that. The vacuum weighed about forty
pounds and the assorted odds and ends added up to another
thirty pounds or so. Luckily the trunk and case had
handles and wheels.
Mark wheeled the two cases to the front door. He knocked.
There was no answer, but the door opened a few inches.
Mark opened it a little more, knocked again, and said,
"Hello? Hello, is anybody home?"
There wasn't an answer, but what Mark saw there in the
living room and dining room, made his jaw drop. They had a
full set of Encyclopedia Britannica and a deluxe Singer
sewing machine. As long as they didn't already have a
Kirby, Mark figured he was only a few minutes away from his
bonus.
It made him a little less cautious. He took a step in and
knocked on the inside of the door. "Is anybody home? Boy,
have I got something to show you."
There was something odd, but Mark couldn't quite place it,
as he listened. There was a very faint sound but it
gradually grew louder. It sounded like heavy breathing a
first, but it gradually grew into a sound that no male
could ignore- the gasping sound of a woman approaching
orgasm.
Mark should have noticed the complete lack of sound that
was so unnatural in a modern home; no air conditioner fan
whirred, no refrigerator hummed, and no played. He even
walked past the fish tank that held no fish without a
second glance, as he followed the direction of the only
sound that carried through the house.
He found himself peeking in the crack in the bedroom door.
The moans were louder now. He could even hear the
squeaking of the bed. The moans were coming from a
girl on the bed - maybe eighteen years old, long
hair, with curves in all the right places. Her
glistened wetly between her wide spread legs and her hands
were busy at work.
Mark's gaze followed her hands. First they moved down and
thrust a digit in and out the puffy lips of her sex, then,
moved up to her mouth to be clean, before traveling
back down to her again. This time she spread the
pink nether lips wide with her other hand, while she
lightly spanked her cunt.
This chick needs a good fucking, Mark thought. And I'm
just the to give it to her. He opened up the door,
rubbing his hand up and down his erection.
He was glad the didn't scream. Instead, she spread
her legs wider, beckoning him.
Mark was happy to oblige. He unzipped his pants, freeing
his hard member. He knelt on the bed between her legs and
pushed them up to her chest, so that her dainty feet were
pointing in the air. Lining his cock up with the opening
to her sex, he thrust in to her in one stroke. He plowed
into her, fucking her. This wasn't a he needed to
please. This was a piece of ass, put here for his pleasure
alone. A gift from God for him alone.
He worried for a moment whether she had a disease or not,
but this thought was short-lived. She was and she
was tight. And when she wrapped her strong legs around his
ass and scratched her fingernails down his back; that was
all that mattered.
He thrust hard into her, pounding her. He could feel the
cum rising in his balls. He wondered if she was on the
pill and considered pulling out, but what did he care. She
didn't even know his name. No one even knew he was here.
It was a perfectly anonymous fuck. He pictured her in his
mind. Her formerly tight stomach swollen, with her pert
breasts hanging down, never knowing the name of the who
impregnated her.
This thought was all it took to take him over the edge.
Closing his eyes, he grunted, "Take it. Take it bitch,"
and shot his seed shot into her greedy cunt. It was at
that moment the mattress buckled and closed over their two
forms.
The center of the mattress bulged and shook as Mark tried
to escape, but though it would give, it refused to yield.
Eventually, the struggles ceased and the muffled cries grew
silent.
A few days later the bed opened up and became a flat
mattress once again. The was still there, but the
only evidence of the vacuum cleaner salesman was the Kirby
9000 laying discarded in the living room. It would be good
company for the set of encyclopedias and the sewing
machine. Kirby would have to get another salesman, but
that was easy enough. They were accustomed to salesmen who
quit with no notice. There always seemed to be a high
turnover in the door-to-door business.
The end