It was a dark and stormy summer night - the kind where a man only thinks about wrapping his lips around a cold scotch or a hot nipple. The wife was away on a religious retreat for a month now and my rod could’ve beaten the dust out of Persian carpets.

I had been on a tough case - surveillance - the kind that leaves you dog tired at the end of an eighteen-hour watch and not feeling too kindly disposed to your client’s prey. This case was like a hundred others. Broads. Ya can’t live with ‘em, ya can’t live without ‘em. But I’m just a regular joe and I needed the four thou’ this schmuck was throwin’ at me to watch his wife. I coulda told him what to expect: Corporate suit works his ass off for thirty years, finally grabs the big bucks and the house on the hill, marries some bimbo half his age who licks his balls clean and then he wanders into my office like some lost puppy because she’s out nights. Broads.

This one was a society dame and a looker. Even had a brain under all that honey colored hair - Masters in Molecular Biology from Vassar, f’r chrissake. Well, the bitch had taken up too much of my time; 150 hours on the binoculars and I had come up with about as much as a eunuch’s pecker. The broad had had her eye glued to a microscope in the City College lab for the past three weeks! Finito! It was time to call up the sucker and retire gracefully from his babysitting job. I was bushed, bored and ready to acquaint myself with the friendlier half of a bottle of J & B, when I heard the door to my outer office softly click shut.

The cold steel of my .45 was in my hand before you could whack off a fifteen year old and I turned down the lamp so that only a blue shaft of moonlight spilled through the window onto the floor in front of my desk. I heard slow steps - a dame’s steps - crossing the outer office.

“Mr. Chandler?” The voice was low, rich and more promising than a deck full of face cards. “What can I do for you?” My fingers tightened on the hammer of my piece. “I’m the woman you have been watching the past few weeks, Mr. Chandler,” she said as she stepped into the moonlight.

Mama mia! I had been tailing Mrs. Cheney from the perspective of several hundred yards away, through field glasses; and this was the first time I had seen her up close. What a sundae!

Glistening, soft hair that fell around her shoulders, eyes like limpid pools of blackberry jello and a mouth that had been stung by a million bees - lips that begged to be soothed. My eyes traveled down her creamy throat to the black dress she musta painted on about ten minutes before - it was shiny and wet- looking and wouldn’t allow one shapely muscle to move without following closer than a bloodhound. A string of pearls around that creamy neck fell down, down and disappeared between two of the greatest landmarks God ever created. As she walked toward me, I could hear those pearls clicking faintly together.

She stopped just at the desk edge. “May I sit down?”

“Sure,” I says, “Might as well make yourself comfortable, Mrs. Cheney.”

No chair ever had a greater favor done for it.

“Mr. Chandler, I know you’ve been watching me and I know why you’ve been watching me.” As she crossed her legs, a strip of fresh white thigh suddenly gleamed at me. “Believe me, you don’t know the whole story.”

“I can’t see there’s much of a story to tell, Mrs. Cheney.” I tipped back in my chair just enough to see that fresh strip of thigh prance up closer to Heaven. “Seems your husband has wasted a lot of money and worry on nothing. You’re having a love affair with a microscope!” “Oh, my husband is more interested in my microscope than you know, Mr. Chandler.” I tipped back farther an inch. Bingo! There was definitive bush.

“What makes you think so, Mrs. Cheney?” Strawberry blonde bush! I began to sweat, wondering if everything about her bush was like strawberries.

“Because he is after my research, Mr. Chandler. He knows that I am onto something big! He knows he can make millions off it and he wants to steal my formula from me so that he can control its marketing. But I won’t let him have it, I won’t! He wouldn’t know what to do with it!”

I forced my eyes up to her face. “What do you want me to do, Mrs. Cheney?” “I want you to help me protect my formula. I’ll pay you twice what he’s paying you. Because I can offer something no one, no thing, no experience can ever equal.” She rose and leaned over, her palms on my desk, looking me straight in the eyes.

The deep valley between her twin pyramids of pleasure loomed before my face, just at lip-level, her pearls faintly clicking and swinging in front of them. Perspiration twinkled on her skin and in her intensity, her nipples had hardened into firm cherry points. My cock was beginning to sympathize.

“And just what can you offer, Mrs. Cheney?”

She sucked in her breath, her eyes bright and triumphant. “H.E.D.”

I sat forward with a thump. “Head?”

“Yes, H.E.D. H - E - D.” She leaned closer and whispered, “Hydro Electrocunilingual Dynamism.” She sat back down.

I was completely lost. “Hydro... what? What are you talking about?”

“Hydro Electrocunilingual Dynamism. My formula. My masterpiece!”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a small vial of golden liquid.

“This bit of nectar, Mr. Chandler, will take you where you have never even imagined.” Things were not going anywhere near where I had imagined.

“What - this is a drug, right? I drink this stuff and go off into La La land? This is your great formula? Forget it - it’s already on the street and probably a lot cheaper.” “No, Mr. Chandler,” she smiled, uncorking the vial, “You don’t drink this; I do. And then,” she again leaned forward, her Valley-of-the-Shadow-of-Life begging me to enter.

She whispered, “My mouth does things to you that you can’t even pronounce.”

In all my years on the beat, there aren’t too many times when I couldn’t thinka nuthin’ to say; I swallowed. She sat back.

“Well?” she purred.

I took a breath. “What’s in it for me? You want me to help you with this hare-brained scheme, what do I get out of it?”

“Ten percent of all gross sales. Believe me, this will be hot.”

I considered. “How do I know you really got something there?”

She slowly stood up and looked at me. Then, slowly, she walked around the corner of my desk, each step measured, each pearl clicking. She stopped just in front of my toes.

“In the name of Science, Mr. Chandler,” she knelt down, hiking up her painted dress so she could spread her knees. “I’ll just have to show you.”

She lifted the little vial high, tilted back her head and closed her eyes. The golden syrup dripped down heavily and her pink tongue stretched out to catch every drop. When the vial was empty, her head came back up and she looked at me and her hands found my zipper. I can’t say it would have been too difficult to locate.

When my manly proportions were liberated from constraint, she asked me, “Are you ready, Mr. Chandler?” And she didn’t wait for an answer.

The instant those honey lips closed around the head of my cock, I was in the stratosphere. All of a sudden, my rod was bigger than the Washington Monument and my balls could have blocked highways. And her mouth, which was no longer a mouth, but a new player on the New York Stock Exchange, was right with me.

She sucked, she blew, she nibbled a mile-and-a-half down my cock to my balls, taking them both into her mouth, and ran her tongue around them in figure 8’s. Make that figure 8000’s. The wetness in her mouth was the lava bubbling up from a volcano and the coolness of a Vermont creek in winter at the same time.

As her mouth rose and fell on my dick, thousands of tiny fishes with little jack-hammers swam around, breaking up the concrete that was my erupting cock. When she sucked, tornadoes swept over the length of my shaft, destroying homes, farms and villages along the way. And it went on and on and on.

She was writing a symphony with my dick and her mouth and my cock and the wet/hot dick licking, finger licking, ball swallowing, thunder pounding, head pulling, pulse stopping glory of it all shot my wad straight out the window, over the sleeping city lights, around the unknowing moon and soared out towards Pluto.

I knew I would need digitalis ever to be able to stand on my feet again.

Mrs. Cheney coughed delicately and stood up again. “That, Mr. Chandler, is Hydro Electrocunilingual Dynamism.” Gradually, I came back to the world of the human organism.

“You might have something there, Mrs. Cheney.”

She smiled. “Of course, there are still a few kinks to work out. It’s an imprecise science. But with proper clinical trials - uh, you wouldn’t mind helping me with those? We could be ready to package in six months!”

“Baby,” I said as I slid my arms around and drew her near, “It looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

THE END