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A Dick for All Seasons

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The Sex Detective goes into wild action in this world of the future. Free sexual expression is a way of life until a group believing in virginity tries to take over. Then, look out! Here comes the sex detective.


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A Dick for All Seasons

Pablo Kane

This page copyright © 2006 Olympia Press.

The Sex Detective goes into wild action in this world of the future. Free sexual expression is a way of life until a group believing in virginity tries to take over. Then, look out! Here comes the sex detective.

CHAPTER ONE

“Thank God you're here!”

“I made it as quickly as possible,” Hugh said. “Traffic was fierce in quadrant six.”

“She's in there.” The boy was obviously agitated. He gave the appearance of having dressed hurriedly. His hair was mussed. “Please help her.”

“Yes, of course,” Hugh said. His trained mind had been analyzing the situation. The boy was a fine-looking specimen, tall, blond hair in an old-fashioned Prince Valiant, belly lean, muscles taut. And he was of age, at least fourteen.

“I don't know what happened,” the boy said, not looking at Hugh. “Everything was going fine and then—” He couldn't say it.

“I understand,” Hugh said. “I'm here now. It will be all right.” He walked to the door leading into the bedroom. It was ajar. He pushed it, looked in for a quick assessment. The girl was sprawled on her stomach on the bed, motionless. She had long, brown hair which feathered out on the pastel sheet beside her small, classic head. Her shoulders were feminine, her upper body tapering down to an astoundingly tiny waist. Her hips were just beginning to take on the promise of womanhood, flaring out delicately from the small middle. Her legs were thin, but beautifully shaped. If she was of age, Hugh thought, she made it by a matter of days, or weeks.

“You can help us, can't you?” the boy asked, his voice close to Hugh's ear.

“Of course,” Hugh said. “But first I have to know the facts. How long have you been teamed?”

“Since Monday,” the boy said, hanging his head.

“That poor kid,” Hugh said. “And you've waited all this time to call?” It was Wednesday. Three a.m. It had been going on for over twenty-four hours.

“I'm sorry,” the boy said, almost in tears. “I hoped—we thought—”

“The time to ask for help,” Hugh said sternly, “is when the need for it is first indicated. You know the dangers involved. Didn't you study Social Actions in school?”

“Yes, but-”

“You have been, I take it, completely unsuccessful?”

“Yes,” the boy admitted. “I just couldn't—I mean, well, I'd touch her and—”

“I know,” Hugh said. He pushed the door open, entered the room, his fact thoughtful. He put his emergency kit on a chest near the bed.

“She's asleep,” the boy whispered.

“Yes, poor kid.” He began to prepare himself for action. “You were low grade, I take it?”

“One,” the boy whispered, shamed.

“And her grade?”

“Five,” he said, his face flushing.

“Don't you know the odds against success in a one to five team?” He looked at the boy severely. Half the problems which came to the attention of the Department were caused by such impetuous teamings. Half the energies of the SXers were squandered in correcting such mis-teamings, and the tragedy of it was that it could so easily be avoided. The Department was sadly understaffed. Recruiting was at an all-time low. SX-l's were doing the work which, five years ago, would have been entrusted only to ranks 4 or higher and the more experienced men were called upon to work so much overtime that their effectiveness was, at times, seriously impaired.

And then a couple of kids had to make a one to five team.

“We knew we shouldn't,” the boy said, his eyes swimming with unshed tears. “They all told us it wouldn't work. But we love each other, sir.”

“Sure, sure,” Hugh said. “And look at her.”

The girl moved in her sleep, pressing her middle-body down into the firm mattress, moaning slightly.

“We can make it,” the boy said. “I know we can. All we need is a little help.”

“I can't be too encouraging,” Hugh said, having completed his preparation.

“You guys know a lot,” the boy said. “You have all those things—”

“We are not miracle workers,” Hugh said, sighing. Here he was, Darnel, Hugh, SX-7-D.S.A., top grade in ranks, preparing to do a simple SX-2 job. The whole world was going to hell. There were threats to the system from both right and left, and he, who should have been spending his time on more important things, was forced by circumstances and simple humanism to render first aid in a simple case of mis-teaming. And he was off-duty. In a matter of hours he'd be due to report in to the Department with a hell of a day ahead of him. He should have been at home with a tall one, relaxing with a music synthesizer, restoring his energies, but there was this poor kid.

“All right,” he said, with resignation. “I'll do my best. The first thing is immediate first aid. Perhaps you'd better wait in the other room.”

“I'd like to watch,” the boy said. “I might learn something.”

/ doubt it, Hugh thought. The boy hadn't learned that a one to five mix is potential tragedy. But he shrugged and leaned over the sleeping girl.

Hugh Darnel was six feet, just a half inch over the minimum standard of the Department. He had a mass of dark black hair which had begun to grey over the temples. His eyes, behind his contacts, were brown. His nose was strong and had a hint of an Irish upturn. His mouth was sensuous, lips full, teeth slightly maloccluded. The slight defect seemed to add to his rugged handsomeness. As he stood over the sleeping girl, he was almost the ideal of virility. His chest was thick with little ridges of muscle waving down into his flat stomach. His legs were powerful. He had a small amount of hair on his chest and a lot of hair on his powerful thighs. His pubic hair was a wiry mass which curled atop a classic rank 7 cock. He was uncircumcised. As he prepared himself mentally for the job ahead, the foreskin was resting half-way back on his swollen glans penis. The blue veins of his cock were swollen with power.

He put his hand between the girl's slightly spread legs to test for lubricity. There were gooey signs that the boy had been at work. It was enough. A girl of her size, just past age, barely twelve, had to be well lubed for a rank 7 cock.

The girl, sensing the touch of his hand even in her sleep, moaned and drove her loins rhythmically into the unfeeling mattress.

“Easy, baby,” Hugh whispered. “It won't be long.”

He knelt over her, his thighs outside hers. Her little rump was delicate and taut-skinned with the beauty of youth. The cleft between her buttocks was downy with a fine, blonde fuzz. He caressed it softly with his fingers, feeling a warm, tender glow for her. Poor kid. With one hand he guided his cock down, down, pushed the head of it into the dark cleft, lowered it past her rosy little anus, found the wet, used, cunt-slit.

“Now, little sweetheart,” he whispered, easing forward.

He was kneeling. He had to put his hands under her loins. Then he had it. He pushed, his cock sliding into a sweet tightness.

Filled as she had never been filled before, the girl moaned, opened her eyes. Her fingers clawed the sheet as Hugh drove in, pulled back, drove in harder, driving his cock far, far up to push and nudge her responsive womb.

“Oh, darling,” she moaned. “Oh, how wonderful!”

“Enjoy it, baby,” Hugh said gently. “Live it up.”

Surprised by the sound of the strange voice, she turned her head to look back at him, wide-eyed.

“Hugh Darnel, SX-7, at your service, little doll.” He smiled down at her.

“Thank God you're here!” she whispered, driving her taut, tiny little rump up at him, making a sound between laughter and sobs as she wiggled and humped under him. He began the rhythmic beat, a pause and then two swift plunges. Her voice began to keen with joy. He knew that his hard, penetrating lunges were slightly painful to her. He was kneeling atop her rump, his thighs clasped tightly around her firm little buttocks, his cock so keenly deep in her that she squirmed with the thrust of it, but he knew, also, that in her desperate need a bit of pain would hasten the release.

He was right. With a pause, two quick plunges, another pause and then, sensing her nearness, a driving series of blows, he made her come. She screamed out her joy. Then she was limp. He held still in her, then moved slightly to give her the feeling of after-pleasure.

“A 7?” she asked, in a small, childish voice. “A real 7?”

“That's right,” Hugh said.

“Gee,” she whispered. “May I see it?”

“Of course,” Hugh said, unseating his cock. He rolled onto his back. She was on her side, head propped on one elbow. She eyed his cock with awe.

“I've never seen a real 7,” she whispered. “Except in pictures, of course.” She wanted to touch it. She extended a hand tentatively, paused, uncertain.

“It's all right,” Hugh said.

Her finger touched the gleaming glans-penis, traced a little butterfly pattern on it. “He's so beautiful,” she breathed. “Thank you.”

“Oh!” She'd just noticed that her teammate was in the room. The boy was standing at the foot of the bed. His eyes were feverish. There was a bulge in his pants. “Oh!” she repeated.

“I called him,” the boy said.

The girl was concerned. “You didn't have to. We could have—”

“He did the right thing,” Hugh said.

“Well,” the girl said, confused. “We're so grateful. I know you're busy, what with everything. So we won't keep you.”

“I have time,” Hugh said, sighing to think how little sleep he'd get. “And your need it great. Here.” He put her hand back on his cock. With all four fingers clasped around it, she covered much less than half of the length of it. “I'm here for your pleasure. This is yours. You may use it as you like.”

“Oh, God,” the girl breathed. She was a pretty little twat, all cream and honey. Looking at her, Hugh remembered his last leave. Switzerland it was. Summer. He had flown away from the oppressive heat of the city into clean mountain air. Snow was there on the high meadows, far up. And there was the sweet little candidate, just turned twelve, eager to be trained. In a way, it had been a working vacation, because the candidate, after two weeks of intensive instruction, had gone on to enter the Department and become one of the top recruits of the year. And, even though it was a working vacation, he had enjoyed it, for the girl had been all softnesses and cream and honey and sweet, virgin little cunt and hard, barely-formed little breasts which had, it turned out, been extremely sensitive.

Much like this girl who had her little hand on his cock and was looking at it greedily.

“Go ahead,” he whispered. “It's part of the first aid treatment. We can't let you suffer, can we?”

“Ohhhh,” the girl moaned, falling down, putting her head in his lap, cheeks against his thigh, lips brushing the hard, vein-swollen shaft tenderly. “It's so beautiful!” And then her lips, sucking, and tongue, licking, laved the length of his cock and eased over the smooth glans. She was pretty good, for an ordinary girl without Department training. Her mouth was a hot tube of softness. Her tongue teased the sensitive rim around the glans. She tried mightily to swallow the huge cock, but could only manage the head and about an inch of barrel. Then, with a bobbing, laughing joy, she mounted him. He was on his back, his cock standing stiff and ready. She lowered herself onto it, the way paved by his own use and by the libations of her grade I teammate. She stabbed herself with cock, moaned as she was filled, began a sensuous little dance of passion, knees under her, weight driving the shaft deeply into her cunt as she pushed her body up and down. She came immediately.

“Now, you,” she whispered, falling atop Hugh. “I want to feel you.”

Hugh sighed. He'd hoped she wouldn't need that. Not that he didn't enjoy it. She had a tight, young, lovely little cunt, and under different circumstances he would have been only too happy to let her feel him. But now he was tired. It had been a long day. Two mis-teamings, one lengthy demonstration at a Social Actions night school immediately prior to the emergency call from these two young people, a really rough case involving the latest sex maniac to plague the city, all had combined to drain him. In spite of massive doses of vitamins, proteins and blood-building iron, he was tired. But a request was a request.

“All right, darling,” he whispered. He held her in his arms. He rolled with her, his cock still engaged. Then, on top of her, his legs lying outside her thighs, her legs pressed tightly between his, he began to pump her. He rode her high so that the base of his hard cock pounded her clitoris and he was not surprised to hear her peak within a few strokes. Few women would last more than a dozen such poundings while impaled on a 7. He gave it to her fast and hard while she came, then settled into a ground covering lope. He was feeling better about it now. Her little cunt was a beauty. She had wonderful muscle control. As he went in and out slowly she tightened her introitus, squeezing him nicely. It would be good for her to feel the gush of a 7, the all-filling, spurting, gush of a huge ejaculation into thirsty tissue. He wanted to do it for her because she was a nice kid and she'd been through hell for over twenty-four hours, teamed with a grade I afflicted with ejaculatio precipitata. He'd give it to her.

But first there were other educational measures to take. Since the boy was watching, might as well give him a real demonstration and see if any of it would help. He slid between the little legs, put his hands under the rump, lifted her, pounded. Then he raised her legs. She groaned, because the position, knees alongside her little, hard, sweet breasts, gave him access to the entire elastic length of her vaginal tunnel. It was forced to stretch. The average length of a vaginal tube is just over three inches and hers was young so it had to stretch considerably to take him. She managed with a joyful abandon. She was sobbing-laughing-talking, saying, “God, you're good.” And, “Fuck me, darling.”

He drove her to three more orgasms and she was weeping with her joy when he rolled her far back onto her shoulders, her legs thrown over his shoulders, clasping his neck. He drove down into her.

“The big one now, baby,” he said. “The big one while I drill your eyeballs out and come a quart.”

He'd guessed that such talk would jazz her. It did.

She went wild. He gave it a double stroke, taking the head all the way out, getting the thrill of entry on each stroke, making it seem as if his cock was going into a mile deep cunt and then he felt her begin to stiffen and moan with bliss and he let it all hang out and when her tight little cunt spasmed, chewing and clutching his driving dick, he went thundering down on her and drove it home into her pulsing tissue, grunting, because she did have a beauty of a cunt; as ounce after ounce of pure 7-come deluged her insides she screamed with the goodness of it, her eyes rolling, and blacked out.

Hugh cleaned his tool on the cloth he carried. It was cleanser, deodorant, disinfectant. “Now,” he said, as the girl began to stir slowly and weakly, “show me how you do it.”

“Me, sir?” the boy was nervous.

“Yes.”

“Now?”

“Now. I may be able to give you a tip or two.”

“She's tired,” the boy said.

“Oh, no,” the girl protested. “I don't mind.”

“Well,” the boy said. “Shouldn't you go wash or something?”

“No,” Hugh said. “The lubrication will make her loose. Perhaps her very tightness has contributed to your problems. Give it a try.”

“Well, all right,” the boy said, stripping. He was definitely excited. He lunged toward the bed, crawled up the girl's supine body, drove his cock into the used, loose, hot opening. He exploded on the second thrust. He fell away, sobbing.

“It's a classic case,” Hugh sighed. “I'm afraid, young man, that you neglected your homework. Didn't you have a sister?”

“No, sir,” the boy said. “She was killed in an accident.”

“One of those, Hugh said. “And no substitute was provided for your early training?”

“My mother tried,” the boy said. “She got one once, but I guess I was a failure.”

“This same thing happened with the substitute?”

“Not exactly,” the boy said. “You see, my mother worked. She wasn't able to supervise, and this girl she got, well, she only wanted to suck it.” He wiped his eyes. “She wouldn't let me fuck her. She said she was afraid.”

“Coitophobia,” Hugh said. “Disgusting.”

“So all she did was suck me off.”

“I see. And in the Social Actions classes, didn't you tell the instructors about your problems? There are special courses for such as you, you know.”

“I was ashamed,” the boy said. “And she was in the class with me. We were in love. I was afraid that I'd lose her if I admitted that I-”

“And now this,” Hugh said sadly.

“I love him,” the girl said. “I don't care if he comes with the first touch.”

“You don't care until the tensions build up so greatly that you have to call for help,” Hugh said. “Do you realize that there are more calls each day than we can handle?”

“I'm sorry,” the girl said. “I won't bother you again.”

“And you'll end up frustrated. The first thing you know you'll have pimples.”

“Oh, no,” the girl gasped. “Not that.”

“Or you'll develop unexplained headaches or go out onto the streets demonstrating or you'll begin to get political ideas—”

“I won't,” she said. “I'll—I'll—masturbate.” Hugh sighed. “I would strongly advise you both to break up this team. I would advise you,” he indicated the boy, “to go to a night Social Actions class and ask for special treatment. And you,” to the girl, “I would advise to find someone with a sexual quotient as high as your own.”

“I can't give him up,” the girl said. “You're sure?”

“You have things which could help us, don't you?” she asked.

“Temporary aids,” Hugh said. “I'll go to night class,” the boy said. “I'll try.”

“You should have tried when you were younger,” Hugh said. “You should have done more self-stimulating things. There's no excuse for letting yourself get into such a condition.”

“I know. I'll try,” the boy said. “All right. But you're verging on criminal action. I must warn you of that. The best thing for both of you would be to break up this team and form others with more suitable partners. It may come to that. I'm sure it will, in fact. In the meantime—” He opened his emergency kit. “I'll leave you two items. Use them as often as possible. This one is for you.” He showed a neat little palm-sized gadget to the boy. “It works this way.” He clasped his hand containing the gadget to the boy's cock. It was, after the boy's premature ejaculation, limp and tiny. The gadget buzzed in Hugh's hand. Vibrations entered the boy's body through his limp cock. It rose. “Put it in,” he ordered. The boy crawled eagerly into the saddle. He hit three strokes and came, just as the girl was lifting her loins in feeling. “When that happens,” Hugh said, “use this.” He clasped the gadget to the boy's limp cock and it rose again. Then he put the gadget into the girl's hand, pushed her hand down to the base of the boy's cock. The boy came again. The girl put the gadget against his cock and it rose. He came every three or four strokes, a flood of semen oozing out from around his shaft, flowing down the soft thighs of the girl to the sheet, but she managed to keep him hard as she began to buck and heave, and, after a quick ejaculation, she came with a moan of delight.

“Oh, darling,” she cried, “that's our first. There'll be many more.”

“Not many,” Hugh said. “Look.”

The boy, who had come ten or twelve times within five minutes, was grey in the face, gasping for breath.

“He's good for only one of these a day,” Hugh said. “It may or may not turn out that such treatment will increase his lasting power.”

“Just one?” the girl asked, disappointed.

“This is for you,” Hugh said, showing her a cone-shaped object from his emergency bag. “When all else fails, you may ease your frustrations with this. I'll show you how it works.”

He pushed the flat end of the cone into the saddle between her legs. “You throw this switch,” he said, pushing a button.

A huge, soft-hard, realistic cock slipped out of the cone shape to impale her. She gasped. Then wetness enfolded her clit and pressed rhythmically as the cock began to shuttle in and out and a wet, soft thing pushed down and entered her anus. Thus she had cock in her cunt, a soft cock-like thing in her anus and a wet, mouth-like thing kissing and sucking her clitoris. Then the cock in her cunt began to spin around on its axis as it shuttled in and out and she moaned with pleasure and began to respond.

Hugh let her have an orgasm, then turned the thing off.

“I'm authorized to give you two weeks to try to adjust your problems. I, or some other agent of the Department, will be back at the end of that period of time. If you haven't made adjustments, if you're still depending on mechanical objects for your satisfaction, then we'll have to take measures.” He didn't state what measures. The poor kids looked sad enough as it was, but they should have known better. In this day and age for a grade one to team with a grade five was unthinkable. But there were a lot of unthinkable things going on in the world.

Hugh left them. He entered his vehicle, drove to the end of the residential street, engaged his computer with eastern control, got clearance to enter the lift lane. Then he was airborne and the vehicle was locked into control and he leaned back with a sigh. Yes, there were a lot of things wrong with the world. In spite of all an enlightened civilization could do to make life simple and lovely, people still could not accept it. Theoretically, society was perfected. There had been no war, large or small, for fifty years. Pollution of the environment was a thing of the distant past. Hungry was a word which could be applied only to someone stubborn enough to lose weight the old-fashioned way, by dieting, instead of doing it medically. The race problems of the last century had been buried under a slight tan. Inter-breeding of the races had left the world with light, dusky skin. All men were equal. And women were equal, too.

Population control was in effect, so no woman had to have children unless she elected to do so. And those who selected parenthood usually had their children, no more than two, soon after puberty so that child rearing years were limited to the teens and early twenties. After that women were free to enter productive society as they saw fit. It was a damned good world, damned good, indeed.

And yet, that very day, Hugh had been called on to minister to the victim of a sex criminal, a fiend who had evaded the best efforts of the Department for over two months, leaving victim after victim screaming in the dim, secluded glades of the park. That very day word had come from the west coast of still another attempt to censor the free flow of information. Only a week past, Hugh had attended a lecture in which a long-haired nut had actually preached a return to what the sonofabitch called “morality.” What he had been talking about was a return to insanity, to repression, to frustration, to war and pimples and headaches and politics.

No matter how good it was, there was always some nut around to try to throw a kink into it. No matter how beautifully society functioned, there was always some nut or group of nuts who had crazy ideas about how to change it to suit their own deluded view of things. Every day the Department sent out agents to combat the criminals who botched their fucking, to search out and destroy the coitus interruptus fiends, to de-fang the anti-gang-bang-gangs, to combat the censors and the puritans, to expose the dishonest virgins and to uncover the onanistic networks which threatened to stifle the free flow of sex in society.

It was almost more than the Sexperts in the Department could manage. Understaffed, overworked, each man and each woman had to be a dedicated, tireless, idealistic individual with stamina, a super-inflated libido and a love of humanity. If a man qualified, and it took a real man to make it, the opportunity was endless. President Westmar, himself, had come up through the ranks, starting his civil service career as a recruit in the Department, rising to SX-7 before he was twenty. And the Westmar story was only one of many success stories involving SX ranks. A man could go far if he could handle the stresses and strains of Department duty.

Hugh Darnel thought he could. Next to Westmar, he was the youngest SX-7 in history. At twenty-six, the world was his oyster. He was due to become officer grade before the end of the year. He'd already completed staff school, attending the strenuous sessions during his last vacation period. Once he was upstairs, removed from the day to day...

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