“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I heard myself say, the voice belonging to someone else.
“Please…”
Kerri scooted forward and wrapped her arms around my legs, clinging to me, sobs wracking though her body. And for some reason, that simple act broke my rage, sent it crashing down like the walls of Jericho.
“Shhhh.”
“I’m sorry I…”
“No, don’t be. It’s okay, Kerri, it’s okay.”
I was down there on the floor with her, enveloping her in my arms, her words a muddy babble as she wept into my chest.
“You looked so mad,” she managed finally, averting her gaze from mine.
“You were terrific,” I whispered. “…I could never get mad at you.”
“I shouldn’t have…”
“I’m glad you did it. I liked seeing him with you.” The embers were dimming completely, and I felt the excitement rising from that same mysterious font. “It was…”
“You saw it?”
“I was peeking right around the door.”
“You must think I’m a total slut.”
“I think I’m lucky to be married to the best girl going. I love you, babe. I’ll always love you, don’t ever worry about that. I wanted you to do it.”
Very hesitantly she lifted her face to mine allowing me the chance to brush her tears away with my thumb.
“I did like it.”
“I guessed that by the way you came.”
“It was so exciting,” she gushed with an air embarrassment. “I know I shouldn’t have let him do it like that.”
“Like this,” I whispered, touching my fingers to the tacky semen on her leg, my cock fully stiffened by now.
Kerri nodded, tried to laugh but instead broke into another crackling sob.
“I liked that you shaved,” I said, reaching down to stroke her bald pussy.
“I just did it this morning. I wanted him to like me.”
“Well, you succeeded there, in spades.”
“He’ll probably want to do it again.”
“Like probably right now,” I answered.
“What if he starts bothering…”
“The girls are away till next Saturday. You have anything you like with him, especially if I get so see.”
“And you won’t mind,” she whispered, the fact that she wanted another tumble with the kid coloring every syllable.
“I want you to have a good time with it. …I love you.”
“It was so exciting.”
I laughed a bit, wanting her now. Not really thinking about it any deep level; knowing that that would come later for me, and for her.
“If I do something, you aren’t going to be grossed out, are you?”
“What?”
“You guess,” I said, stroking her inner thigh, letting my fingers linger again on that shaved snatch. Keri’s eyes widened a bit and then she grinned.
“You can if you want to?”
“Thanks, Mrs. Casselli,” I chuckled, taking a firm grip and pushing her back onto the floor, flipping the sheet off her body. She was up on her elbows, looking down at me, still sniffling a bit. I smiled and lowered my mouth to her recently violated vagina, closing my eyes as I put my tongue to her.
*************
Eight months have passed since that day. We play with the fantasy and the memory of it still, though neither of us have a serious intention to go back there again. Kerri had the kid on three other days, all in that week immediately after their first outing. I was wary of my response after that first day, but fell into a fast erotic comfort-zone with it when she invited him over the very next day.
It was Kerri’s decision to ultimately put the brakes on Tommy with it, seeing the horrendous complications that could arise with such a tryst. I listened to her give him the brush on that last date, the way he started to argue with her, going so far as to make an ardent pronouncement of love for her, no doubt thinking that it was the balm necessary to keep bare-backing my beautiful girl. After that she told me how he’d taken to coming over every time he saw me pull out in my car, knocking on the front door, phoning her when he knew I was gone. She’d been gentle with him at first, but finally had to get nasty, telling him she didn’t want him coming around again, that she was sorry she’d ever done it.
And so our life fell into a balance; a new balance, but still something that worked for us. The kid was sullen when he’d cross our path, not that I blamed him really. He was young and he saw a terrific fuck-thy-neighbor’s-wife scenario just wither up and die.
I’d watched Kerri over at the counter this morning, packing our girl’s lunches, going over their outfits prior to sending them out the bus. I did love her. And I trusted her. The infidelity, if you could call it that since I was watching the action from the stands, had not weakened my bond with her, not at all, which was something that honestly surprised me.
I got up and closed my briefcase and pulled her tight, just a peck on the lips, startled by the hard knock on the front door.
“I’ll get it,” I said, going down the hall, hearing the fist rap it again, urgent, full of power.
“You got a minute, Frank,” Allen Gardner said, stepping inside before I could answer. He looked down the hall at Kerri and said: “this concerns you too, Kerri.”
“What?”
“This shit here,” he said roughly. The manila envelope in his hand, pictures coming out, three of them: Kerri out by the pool taking off her top, losing her bikini bottom, her fingers jacked in between her legs.
“You can keep ’em,” he said harshly, tossing them onto our couch. How had I missed the kid snapping them…easy I’d been too busy with my own cock.
“Allen…”
“I don’t detect any shock on your part Frankie. No, surprised reaction to what your sweet little wife is doing giving my boy a free tit and ass show, which makes me believe you knew she was doing it. Hell, maybe you were even watching, right?”
“I’m sorry,” Kerri said in a shaken tone.
“Save with the ‘I’m sorry’, Mrs. Casselli,” he blurted. “That kid of mine has it all written up in his diary about how you gave him a burlesque and then the next day took his cherry, which between you and me ain’t exactly a negative thing. You know she fucked him, Frank? Your sweet piece of a wife sucked his teenage wang right out there on the patio and then let him screw her in your bed. Three fucking times. …Fuck, I was always worried about him being a homo, so at least you put that worry to bed for me.”
“Allen, look…”
“Teacher of the fucking year… our neighborhood’s own little miss perfect soccer mom.”
“Please,” Kerri begged.
“You get all the pictures back, plus the memory stick from the camera. Also I rip Shakespeare’s diary pages out and let you have them, all nice an’ easy.”
“Thank you,” Kerri whimpered—I knew the proverbial other shoe was about to drop, even if she didn’t.
“Nice an’ easy, which is how I read you like it from behind. …Want to know what you’re gonna do, Frank? You’re going to bring your lovely wife up to Elk Mountain this coming weekend. Get somebody to watch your kids. Me and a couple of my college buddies spend a ski trip together up there every year. This year, I’m intending on bringing the entertainment, which Kerri, is you.”
“Fuck you, Allen. Get the fuck…”
“You don’t want me to leave here disappointed, because my first trip is going to be down to the cops where I’ll inform them as to the exhibitionist tendencies of your cunt wife. Now they’ll decide to prosecute her for indecent exposure or they won’t, but you both know that either way the talk will be all over this pissy little town. And I’ll make sure the pics get out there too, bet your ass on that. That and the fact that my kid got serviced with a smile.”
“Please…”
“You’re a nice lady, Kerri, that’s why I’m giving you an out. I’ll have one of the chalet’s reserved in your names. If you show up, we got a deal. If not, a reputation is an awful thing to lose. And don’t try and entrap me into saying anything else, you know, in case you think of blackmailing me to my wife. Hell, you better pray she never reads Tommy’s descriptions as to your prowess in the art of fucking and swallowing sword. She’ll be coming after you with a gun. …You are both totally boxed, no doubt about it. I’m giving you a get-out-of-jail-free card, a one-time offer, with the clock ticking on it.”
He opened the door, pausing, his eyes burning a hole right through my wife: “And who knows, you might really enjoy it too. I personally can’t wait to see you in your PJ’s.”
Kerri was weeping hysterically, staring at the door, shaking uncontrollably as I reached out to hug her, muttering “I don’t wanna do it, I don’t wanna do it,” over and over again, like some mantra of the damned.
“Kerri, don’t worry. You don’t…”
“I don’t wanna do it,” she wailed, completely breaking up, her legs buckling to the point where I had to support her. “Please, I don’t want to it…”
THE END
Good Night And Sweet Dreams
Lucky I only read this in the morning. If I had read it last night, sure will have a HARD time sleeping. Nice bro. Lucky no cliff hanger for this one.
Quote:
Originally Posted by
8 Banners
Lucky I only read this in the morning. If I had read it last night, sure will have a HARD time sleeping. Nice bro. Lucky no cliff hanger for this one.
Thanks bro 8 Banners for your support and taking time to read the stories here , well if you do have any stories please feel free to post here .
You Will Never Be The Same Again
It is very hard for me to get used to the people of Thruxoris: they are loud, aggressive and arrogant. I should have guessed it: when I met Cholonto, that was made him different from the men of my home planet. Cholonto swept away my heart and I married him without thinking about how difficult it might be to get used to living a long way from home.
I am starting to feel very lonely. I have had no news from my family for far too long. I smile at Cholonto, but I think that he sees that I am not really happy. I wish for the more cultured, dignified ways of home. It is also painful to say goodbye to Cholonto for his long business trips.
The biggest adaptation for me has been the different views on sex. They talk about it all the time. They put it into every aspect of their society. And they are very free about it. They do have strict sexual mores, but I don’t understand them yet. I don’t want to. I just want to be close to Cholonto.
This has tended to isolate me from the Thruxorians. Still, I have managed to make one friend: Mashuni. I am able to talk to her about a thousand things. While we are talking it seems that time goes by more quickly. At least, she does most of the talking. She is interesting and witty. I feel like a complete wallflower while she is around.
Sometimes she can be a trial though. Like most Thruxorians, her favorite topic of conversation is sex. This is very embarrassing. She describes in detail about what she does with her husband. She uses terms like ‘fuck’ and ‘cunt’ that we would never dream of using back home. It is not bothering as much as it used to. Maybe I am getting used to the blunt ways of Thruxoris.
Mashuni has often told me about sex with a so-called Friend. I was scared to ask her what that was, and just assumed that she was using a pet name for her husband. It did not seem to fit the context, but I was not going to interrupt Mashuni just to look like an idiot.
Just yesterday she was in the middle of describing another amazing sex act when she suddenly stopped and looked at me with surprise. “Calenta, do you know what a Friend is?”
I miserably shook my head.
Mashuni seemed stunned. “I suppose one should not be too surprised considering that you were so protected in your childhood,” she said, implying that I come from a desperately backward and na‹ve place that was completely out of touch with the rest of the Galaxy.
She may have been right, but I did my best to look at her as regally and composedly as I could. The pose did not really fit me, and I felt only the more ridiculous for it.
Mashuni laughed out loud. “You are such a darling girl,” she exclaimed, forgetting that we are the same age. “Let me explain. A Friend is a fucktoy.” She stopped short. “Don’t you don’t know what a fucktoy is either?”
I laughed. “We call it a dildo,” I said, thinking that I was finally seeing the light.
Mashuni snorted indignantly. “No self-respecting woman uses a dildo here,” she said. “A fucktoy is a live person that takes care of his or her owner’s sexual needs.”
“But what about your husband?” I gasped. “Doesn’t he get jealous if you have sex with another man?”
“Why should he be jealous?” Mashuni asked with disdain. “I am married to my husband, and he is the only one that I love. The others are there for convenience. I own them, not the other way round.”
“What if you fell in love with your Friend?” I asked, intrigued.
“I would never allow that to happen,” Mashuni said. “Love is a decision, not a feeling. I will continue to choose to love my husband no matter what happens between me and my Friends.”
Mashuni looked at me, wondering whether her message had gotten through. Her temporary silence gave me the chance to put another question. “Doesn’t your husband think its unfair that you have other lovers?”
“No, he doesn’t. In fact, we share our fucktoys, both male and female.” Mashuni seemed to find it incomprehensible that anyone could not follow such simple logic. She felt that she had to say something more. “Besides, I don’t have lovers: I don’t love my Friends. They are only sex toys.”
My mind was racing at the consequences. I knew that Thruxorians have no qualms about having sex with members of the same sex, but somehow it did seem very strange to share sexual partners with your spouse. I grabbed a new avenue of attack. “Are Friends people or androids?”
“They are real people. They are slaves, just like the maids and the gardeners and the security staff. What is wrong with that? We make sure to keep our Friends happy.” She giggled. “None of my Friends complain about fucking me.”
I could imagine that no one would have problems in having sex with her. She is a stunning woman. Thruxorian standards dictate that their royal wives be beautiful both inside and outside. Of course, outside beauty is far easier to spot than inside beauty. I deliberately push away some spiteful thoughts about some of my very pretty neighbors that do not quite meet my standards of inner beauty.
Mashuni flutters her eyelids at me. Certain that she is flirting with me, and profoundly uncomfortable with having anything to with another woman, and a married one at that, I rush to a direct statement.
“Cholonto is different,” I say fiercely. “He would never do that.”
“How strange that you should say that,” Mashuni says softly. “On Thruxoris royal men traditionally receive their first Friend at age eighteen. Cholonto was no different from other men. In fact, he had a group of ten Friends before he married you. He sold them because he did not want to offend you.” She looked at me directly. “I am sure that he sees it as a huge sacrifice.”
“Where do you buy these… Friends?”
“Friends are very expensive, so there are few good places. The best, and most expensive is called Intimate Friends. Surely you’ve seen it? Their slogan is ‘You will never be the same again.’”
“That seems like a bold statement,” I said. “I have seen far too many shops make claims that are impossible to meet.”
“This is the one place that lives up to its name,” Mashuni said, wriggling a little in her clothes. I suddenly realized that her clothes were so skimpy she might just as well be naked. I made a quick excuse to leave before she tried to seduce me by force. I really had to go: for the first time in my life it seemed remotely interesting to make love (excuse the old-fashioned wording) to a woman.
I decided to verify whether Mashuni had been honest with me. After a few calls I was certain that she had told me nothing but the simple truth. Some people even looked down on Cholonto for giving up his Friends before we married. The unanimous opinion was that if I truly loved him, I would not force him to stay monogamous. Their logic is that everyone knows that it is not natural for a person to be stuck with only one partner.
I wrestled with the problem all night. Back at home the answers seemed so easy. Here everything is different.
Last night I stayed awake long after Cholonto fell asleep, satiated with the love I gave him. He was very good, and my body was also satisfied, but still I could not sleep.
My dilemma was simple: how was I to respond to the news I had received?
Early this morning I made my decision. As I love Cholonto, it is my duty to love him unconditionally. By holding him to norms and standards that are not his own, I am harming him. Firstly, he is not being held in the high regard that he deserves. Secondly, he is suffering because he has to live a life that is completely foreign to his ways. If I am not careful, he could even come to hold that against me.
When he woke early this morning, I was still awake. I simply asked him what sort of Friend he preferred. I have never seen him so pleased. “I told Mother and Father that you would learn our ways,” he proclaimed proudly. “Just choose one that you think I’d like.”
“Won’t you come along to help me?” I asked in surprise.
He couldn’t; he had to make final preparations for his next long cruise. He even quickly briefed me about what to expect when buying a Friend.
I do not feel enlightened at all. The gap between us is too large. I hope that in going through with this I shall be doing something to bring us closer.
Still, I have decided to get a nice woman. I want her to be sexy so that Cholonto can brag with her. It’s easy to figure: the sexier the Friend, the higher her price, and also higher the prestige of her owner.
So here I am outside Intimate Friends, the shop Mashuni recommended. It seems small and unlikely to deliver on its promise - ‘You will never be the same again.’ I push away my prejudices. I am only buying my husband a very sexy present.
I walk into the shop very uncertainly. I can’t help feeling very young and inexperienced.
My eyes stretch at the photographs on the walls. Could this really be? I am about to turn around when a tall, graceful woman catches my eye. The saleslady is wearing a smart business suit that gives her feminine yet business-like look. She approaches me with a cool professionalism that causes me to wilt. I want to give Cholonto, my husband, a very special present, and that is all that keeps me from running away.
“Good morning,” the lady says in a warm tone. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, please. It’s my husband’s birthday and I want to buy him a fucktoy,” I say, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.
“What price range were you thinking of?”
“This is a very special present, and I can afford the very best,” I say.
“These toys are expensive. Last week I sold one for twenty million credits. Can you afford that?”
“I said I can afford the best,” I say slightly petulantly. I feel my re-assurance start to return.
Continue next page ……
“Is it for a birthday present?” the lady asks, her interest definitely roused. Perhaps she’s wondering how she is going to spend the commission on this deal.
“It’s just a present. I love my husband very much, and I think he will have much pleasure-” My voice fades away. I sound foolish and childlike.
“I have several regular female clients. They are all very satisfied.” The lady pauses, as if waiting for me to give her some cue. I am still a little intimidated. “Will you be doing a trade-in?”
“Not this time,” I say, trying to sound more mature than I feel.
She takes out a large flat Tablet. I can see that it is a top of the range model with a high resolution screen and an advanced Personality. I have heard of them, but have never actually seen one.
I agree to an ID check. “I shall use this to obtain details of yourself and your husband for the purposes of helping me to find the toy that best meets your need.”
The lady hands me a glass of summer elixir. I enjoy the cool sweet taste on this hot day. The office looks just like any other office except that every wall is covered with photographs of handsome men and women, sometimes alone, and sometimes in groups. They are all skimpily dressed and showing every sign of enjoying themselves.
That is why I am here: to give my husband a sexy, fun present. I feel warm inside. I cannot wait to surprise my Cholonto.
“What are your requirements?” the lady asks.
“I want something good looking,” I reply.
As I respond to the lady. I can see that she has set her tablet’s background to show good-looking males, most of them completely naked. As she works, the pictures change. I wonder how she can concentrate on her work with so much to distract her.
“Are you looking for a male or female toy?”
“Definitely female.” That was easy. The Tablet immediately responds. The pictures shown on the screen are now all female, all very sexy.
“Would you be wanting to share the toy with your husband?” the woman asks quickly, maintaining her professional attitude.
I blush. I have never been into girls. Still, some people think that is frightfully prudish. Maybe I could try it soon. I feel my body respond to the idea. “That could be very interesting,” I stammer. The display of naked women on her tablet is starting to get to me. I am feeling sexier and sexier by the minute. I am slightly puzzled: I have never looked at another woman.
Well, almost never…
“How busy will the toy be?”
“Excuse me?” I say, not understanding.
“Does your husband have unusual drive? Will he be sharing her with his friends? Will the toy be expected to provide service to other servants?”
“Oh no, she will just be for my husband, and only once a week.” I most definitely want to have most of Cholonto, but I know that he needs a little variety. “And maybe myself too,” I add with a smile. Maybe I can win from this idea after all…
“Good. That means that we can offer you some of our more delicate models,” the lady observes. “What build of woman would your husband prefer: small, medium or large?”
“Does it matter?” I ask bewildered.
“Most men have an ideal size that they enjoy most. What part of your body does husband like best?”
“My breasts. He loves to touch them.”
“Let me guess. You wear a C cup, don’t you?”
I nod.
“I think we’ll get something that is a little smaller than you,” the sales assistant muses. “But with slightly larger breasts. For that I will need to take your measurements. I can use the Tablet to do that. Do I have your permission to proceed?”
“Yes, you may,” I say, having only a slight idea of what is coming.
She takes off a cover from the Tablet and points it as me. “Please stand up and turn around.”
I do so, then sit down. To my surprise a picture is instantly displayed on the screen showing a very beautiful naked woman. I can see her beautifully proportioned breasts and every hair on her vagina. She has a studied look on her face.
It is me.
I look at her agape. “How did you do that?” I ask.
“Several specialist Tablets have the ability to scan people,” she says carefully. “One needs to have a special license to own one and the verbal permission of the person being scanned. You gave me that permission. Are you offended?”
“No problem.” I smile. She already has far more data on me than my bra size.
How can I be offended? The picture is very flattering even though it is very revealing. Just the very thought that I am on the same screen as the other women were makes me feel giddy.
“Should the toy be longer or shorter than you?”
“I think a little shorter.”
As the interview continues, the pictures that are shown on the Tablet’s screen reflect my ideas.
But something has changed. I appear in each of the pictures with the woman. The lady anticipates my question. “You appear on the picture so that you can see your build in relationship to the toy.”
It makes sense, but I am not sure that I fully believe her. I feel my will expand.
“What skin color should the toy have?” the lady asks.
“She should be the same as me,” I say positively. I don’t have any urge for some of the interracial fantasies I have heard. Maybe we can do that later.
“What age range do you prefer?” she asks.
“I think I want one a little older than myself,” I say quickly.
“Excellent,” the lady says reassuringly. “That eliminates our Learner series (all women over the age of 18). We have a very wide range of choice that meet your physical specification.” She pauses. “There are two ranges that would meet your requirements,” she says carefully. “Our Matron Range of toys tend to have a slightly larger build. Perhaps our Expert Range will be a better fit. These are ladies that have been trained in satisfying real men like your husband, but do not yet show the years, if you know what I mean. Which would you prefer?” She pauses, looking me in the eye. The Tablet displays pictures of various women. They are now naked and openly displaying their genitals. I am getting quite excited too.
“I think I will have an Expert then,” I reply. “Are they really that good?”
“That is a very wise choice. Yes, our models are superb, guaranteed to be very pliable to the women in the house, look good in any home and are fully trained,” she says encouragingly. “Moreover, because arrangements like these can be challenging at times, we give Ladies of the House a toll-free support line. If at any time you are unsatisfied with your purchase, you may return it, no questions asked.”
“That’s very helpful,” I say.
The pictures on the Tablet are now older women than myself, but very attractive. They ooze lust and desire. Worse, the pictures show us kissing or otherwise petting one another.
“I have never done something like that before,” I say confused. “How did you get a picture like that?”
Continue next page ……..
“The Tablet is simply drawing the scene as it may have looked if you had done it.” The lady says smilingly. “You like it?”
It is not a question, but a statement. I squirm, trying to squeeze my legs closed. I am not going to let this arouse me any further. It will not do.
“Do you have any particular choice of hair color?”
The Tablet displays women in batches: red hair, blonde hair, raven and shades. I look at each one closely. A brunette is shown touching me between my legs. A blonde kisses me. In each picture I am the object of desire. I bring myself back to the subject.
“I had not thought of that. Does it matter?”
She is very patient. “Not at all. But some men seem to prefer their toys to look like some ideal. Of course this might very easily be arranged: we can permanently change the hair color of the chosen woman if necessary. However, it is so much more satisfactory for all parties if we don’t meddle with hair color.” She pauses. “I assume then that it does not matter so much.”
“That is correct,” I say with all the decisively. The Tablet must be fully aware that my pussy is drooling. I am more in control than ever. It feels sexy knowing that my sexual responses are being monitored.
“Thank you for your assistance. I now understand what you require. We are now ready to move to the next stage of the purchase. Based on your answers to our questions, we have identified a special selection of our toys that we believe will suit you.” The sales manager looks at her tablet. I see a light flashing, and she smiles. “There are several thousand candidates that meet your requirement to some degree. We have narrowed this down to twenty based on your psychological profile as well as those of your husband. I think that we will settle for the top three for the moment. Is that acceptable?”
I nod, my mouth dry, but my body keening for more.
The Tablet displays the pictures. I am astounded: they are all exceptionally beautiful. I am surprised to see that all three women have jet black hair. I immediately approve. Somehow the Tablet knew…
The first woman is naked and lounging back on a bed. Her posture is haughty, as if she is certain of the effect that she is creating. Her full, red lips seem to be issuing a challenge. She is also highly aroused, her well-proportioned breasts on proud display. Her wide open legs are pointing straight at an observer in the picture, inviting the woman to sample her charms. The observer is me, of course, equally naked and with my fingers between my legs.
The second picture is of a shorter woman with a wicked smile winking as she kisses her lover. She seems to be purring with pleasure and anticipation as the lover touches her breasts. The lover is an image of me, of course.
My heart leaps at the third picture. I am captivated instantly. This woman is shy. Unlike the other two, one cannot see her breasts or her genitals: her hands cover both. Still, she has a simple look of sexual need burning in her eyes. The picture shows me gently kissing her whilst drawing her hands away from her body.
“Her name is Ripensia,” the lady says helpfully.
I am fascinated.
The other two pictures disappear, and the third picture fills the whole screen. The picture starts rolling, and I realize that the Tablet has generated a movie with the two of us.
In the movie, I deliberately uncover her breasts, taking in every jiggle and ripple as she moves. She seems somewhat embarrassed to be naked like this with me, but she wants me to be pleased with her. Taking advantage of this, I push her down and stare down at her mound. The slight wisps of pubic hair do not hide anything: I carefully study every detail of her womanhood. I nod, satisfied, then beckon off-screen. Cholonto appears in the frame: ready to take his present.
“How do you know my fantasy? How did you get a picture of my husband?” I ask confusedly, but inside I know her answer does not matter.
“The Tablet knows more than you think,” the sales lady says with a smile. “Do you want Ripensia?” She adds a price that is ridiculously high.
“Yes!” I exclaim immediately, not caring about anything. “That’s the one.”
I am bombarded with petty details about packaging and delivery. All I care about is that in 24 hours this woman will be mine in every sense of the word.
The saleslady finishes the transaction, then smiles at me. “Enjoy your fucktoy,” she says. “If you ever need a big strong stud to keep you and your toy company while your husband is away, just come right back. We have the best range of well-trained hard men in the galaxy.”
I quiver, but first I have some fun planned with Cholonto. Or should I rather say, with myself and Cholonto and Ripensia.
But the best will be when Ripensia and I will be alone.
Maybe I should order a male too. I get up to leave, but the sly smile on the sales lady’s face gazing at the Tablet alerts me. I look at the Tablet too, and immediately sit down again.
The Tablet shows a video of me in a steamy embrace under a well-endowed man. He is heavily aroused but Ripensia is teasing him to further hardness, her hands gently stroking his erection into a furious frenzy.
I lay back, then slowly open my legs for him…
“That’s the one that I want,” I shout. “I want him too.” I ignore the sales lady’s victorious gaze. I don’t care what she will be earning in commission. “Deliver him as soon as possible too,” I order.
Cholonto is due to leave soon on a lengthy business trip. This time I will not be lonely!
The sales lady flips a switch on the Tablet and bland images return once more to the screen. We move toward the door.
I stop, puzzled. “I am not the same,” I say accusingly. “Was it the elixir? Was it the Tablet? Have you hypnotized me?”
The lady shakes her head. “We just nudged you along to become the woman you always wanted to be. Do you like it?”
I nod.
She smiles. “You will never be the same again.”
The End
Reality Bites
I lean over him with the monthly report, pointing out the important figures and trends. I’m wearing a sober black suit, with nothing under my jacket but a black silk vest top which clings to my body as if it was wet. I love the feel of the silk sliding over my nipples as I stretch and point. I know that from his chair, he can see through the gape in the buttons of my jacket. He can see the curve of my breast, hear the static crackle of my cheap tights against my skirt, which cause it to ride up at the back. I feel the draught from the open door blowing between my legs and I press them together. So close, I can feel the heat of his body. His blond hair is silky and his smooth skin smells faintly of Hugo Boss aftershave.
He stops scanning the page and turns, looking me in the eye for the first time. I can tell that he’s aroused by his dilated pupils, the faint flush in his face. “Caroline,” he whispers. “You look beautiful today.”
“Caroline. Caroline!!! Wake up and take these reports upstairs. I’m done checking them.” Mr O’Keefe is always snappy in the mornings before he’s had his coffee. He has a few bloody spots on his face and neck, and his blond hair is tousled. Most tellingly, he is wearing the same clothes as yesterday. I surmise that he didn’t go home last night, and my stomach sinks into a bath of despair and resignation. He glances up at me, an incredulous look on his face. “Well? You’re still here?”
My face starts to burn, but he doesn’t notice. He’s already opening his emails and remarking to himself how stupid the world is. Except himself, of course. Hugging the thick paper files to my chest, I move back into the open plan area and make my way to the lift. A secret smile stretches at the corner of my mouth and only when I’m in the lift do I allow it control over my face.
My name is Carmen, like the opera. People look at me and see a skinny, mousy girl. Personal assistant, secretary, wearer of sensible Marks and Spencers clothes and shoes and driver of a sturdy Volkswagen golf. They don’t know that every night, when I get home from work, I make them my puppets. Their lives are mine to play with. Sometimes I end them tragically, or contrive a happy ending against all the odds. They are my inspiration and my delight. I am a writer of romantic and erotic fiction. My website, where my stories sell for a small price, is where I rule the world.
The lift jolts and bumps its way to the top floor. I always feel nervous when I go to Mr. Boyle’s office. He is a small, toad-like man whose shoulders are frequently dusted with dandruff. I imagine him often as one who ravishes unsuspecting women against the filing cabinet with greedy hands and a dribbling mouth. On the rare occasion I would include him in a story, I always make him a bit taller, as a nod to his masculinity. It doesn’t do to have short men in romantic fiction.
“Hi Carmen,” he says, glancing outside at the grey sky. “That’s a better day.”
I put the files in front of him, noting the shine on his shoes. Important people are coming over from head office, but I don’t know when . He has tidied his desk. I look around at the spacious office, the view of the mouth of the river where the ferry to Scotland waits at the dock. The sea is open and grey, like a canvas of modern art, with the rain soaked city huddling at its edge. Mr O’Keefe calls it the MD’s view. I look forward to the day he is seeing it, for then I will see it too. I hope we can survive this round of branch closures. It’s the reason why my boss is under such pressure these days. He has to justify our very existence.
“It’s a bit warmer,” I say, watching Mr. Boyle’s gnarly finger slide up and down the sheet of figures.
He turns to me, a shadow crossing over his face. He looks younger than his forty years as he removes his glasses. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed those slutty little skirts you’ve been wearing lately,” he says, standing up, stepping so close I can smell the morning coffee on his breath. “I can hear your thighs rubbing together in those tights before you even come into the office. It’s not good enough.”
I blush and look at the floor. “Mr Boyle,” I begin, but he cuts me off.
" I have something for you." He delves into his drawer and pulls out a pair of silk stockings. Black, silky and tipped with lace. “You’re a beautiful woman, Carmen,” he says, sliding his hand over my knee. I feel the heat start to rise in my face as I realise…I like it. I don’t want him to stop. The hand moves up, over my thigh, taking my skirt up with it. I gasp as he tears a whole in my tights, pinging at the elastic of my panties, threatening to creep underneath. Barely able to move, I feel as if the oxygen is getting sucked out of the air. “Wear these stockings tomorrow,” he murmurs. “I want to be able to feel you whenever I want.”
“…and take these back down to Sean. If this keeps up, it’ll be a disciplinary matter.” He pats the folders and hands them back to me. “Thanks, Carmen.”
“See you later, Mr Boyle,” I say, my voice faint. I turn and exit the office, frowning. This won’t do at all. Mr. Boyle can’t be the romantic hero. For a start, he’s closer to sixty than forty, and his hair dye is too dark for his complexion. But the daydream has given me a good idea. I think I’ll get myself some pairs of stockings. Black, silky, tipped with lace. They’ll match the lacy vest top I’ll wear with no bra, like I dreamed of earlier. Maybe I’ll get them at lunchtime and throw away this ancient blouse, these cheap tights. There’s a ladder in them already.
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The rest of the day passes uneventfully. No important visitors come but I hear they’re scheduled for tomorrow. Mary and I go for a drink after work, to talk about Mr. O’Keefe. She is the receptionist, and knows all the gossip. Apparently a young-sounding man was calling Mr. O’Keefe all day, but he didn’t return the calls. Even though she likes him almost as much as I do, she tells me we must face the possibility of his being gay. As my heart starts to wither in my chest, I tell her there must be some other explanation. But that conversation put an idea in my head, so after one glass of wine, I make my excuses and head home, after a quick stop to Marks and Spencers underwear department.
I fill my bath with rose petals and jojoba oil, lighting rose scented candles and trail my fingers through the water. My new pink pyjamas are hanging from the doorway. Underneath them is the silk negligee I would wear if some day, a living, breathing man were to enter my house. It has hung there for almost two years.
My bath is ready, and I slide in, gently at first, watching my skin redden with the heat. I breathe in the smell of candles, stroking my pubic hair, watching the bubbles release and float to the surface, getting lost under the petals. So Mr. O’Keefe may be gay. I examine the evidence. He has a persistent male caller. He has his suits tailor made every time he goes to Thailand for his holidays. He works out almost every day, and he gets the occasional manicure. It’s still not enough to convince me. But it would be interesting to imagine…
The board room smells of cigarettes and sweat. I sit behind Mr. O’Keefe, watching the back of his shirt become damp. He is fighting for his job right now, and I am noting the minutes as best I can.
“I know the team hasn’t been performing as well as it should,” he says, “but in light of the uncertainty they’ve been facing, I would ask for the understanding of the board, and an extension of one week to enable us to meet the targets.”
Mr. Finn slams his hand on the table his face reddening and clashing with his hair. “It’s not good enough, O’Keefe!” he says. He is young and impatient. “I see from the figures here that you’ve been tolerating underperformance for quite some time! We’re making a loss, dammit, a loss! And you’ve sat on your arse and mollycoddled those fools instead of doing your bloody job and getting us people who can actually sell!”
Continue next page ……….
I see Mr. O’Keefe’s shoulders sink. There is a heavy silence as Mr. Finn sits down, sighing heavily and glancing at his business partner, Mr. Montgomery. They were dot.com millionaires at the age of 17. Eight years later they still aren’t used to the failures of ordinary people. I watch Mr. Montgomery with bated breath. He is the calmer of the two, his blue eyes like an ocean. An unspoken communication seems to pass between them, and Mr. Finn grins suddenly, revealing white teeth. He relaxes into his seat, spreading his legs, clasping his hands behind his head.
“We won’t be needing you now, Carmen,” says Mr Montgomery, standing up and easing off his jacket to reveal broad, muscular shoulders. “Leave the notebook here. I’ll write up the minutes myself.” His eyes are fixed on Mr. O’Keefe, with an icy glint that I can’t quite read.
“Of course, Mr. Montgomery,” I say, slipping out of the room.
Instead of heading to the lift, I tiptoe into the storage cabinet next to the boardroom. It smells of bleach. Hidden among the mops, the cloths and the vacuum cleaners, I hear Mr Finn bark an order.
How did I end up in a cupboard in the middle of my own fantasy? But of course, there is a strategically placed chair and an air vent to peer through. I run my hands over my breasts, feeling an ache deep inside. My nipples harden under my oily thumb and I imagine the lips and tongue of a lover bringing them to aching points of pleasure. I sink my left hand between my legs, my fingertips brushing over that small knot of flesh, parting the lips, playing with the awakening nerve endings which crave the stretch of a thick cock, the pounding of an energetic man between my thighs.
I peer through the air vent, shocked to see that Mr Montgomery has pulled out his dick and is playing with it as his business partner relaxes in his chair, a beatific grin on his face. “Keep this up O’Keefe, and we might even promote you.” Sean O’Keefe, my boss, is on his knees on the floor, his blond head between Mr Finn’s legs. His face is red, his lips stretched around the red-haired man’s thick purple cock head. I can see his tongue sliding out and around it, licking up the pearls that seep from the end. His eyes closed, he starts to bob his head up and down, as Mr. Montgomery creeps around behind him, pulling at his trousers until they are around his ankles. Still he does not stop his motion, up and down, up and down, until the shaft is dripping with saliva. It’s turning me on more than I ever imagined, this view into the hidden world of gay activity which I will never be a part of. My fingers are rubbing over my clit and I hold my breath as my being focuses on that small nub of nerve endings, feeling the juices start to flow from inside me.
“Fuck that’s good,” moans Mr. Finn again, his face getting redder and redder as his hips begin to jerk forward off the chair, forcing his cock down my boss’s throat. Suddenly there is a muffled cry and Mr O’Keefe’s eyes bulge almost out of his head, but he can’t speak because he has a fat cock pounding his throat and I can see Mr. Montgomery’s swollen manhood plunging into his ass, accompanied by a long, satisfied moan.
Mr O’Keefe’s taking a pounding from both ends and I can hear his high pitched grunts of mingled pain and pleasure as the air is knocked out of his body again and again. Suddenly Mr Finn’s back arches in the chair and he emits a strangled groan. Strings of creamy spunk start pouring from Mr O’Keefe’s mouth and finally, Mr Finn zips his cock back into his Valentino suit, tossing a tissue on the floor. “Clean your face,” he says, still breathing hard. Then it’s Mr Montgomery’s turn to cry out and I can see his fingers whiten, leaving red prints on Mr O’Keefe’s skin as he pumps harder and shoots his load inside his arse.
The two company owners stand up, tucking themselves back in, fixing each other’s ties, smoothing down sticking up hair. “Get rid of those guys we told you to,” says Mr Montgomery, when he has his breath back, “and you can keep your job. That was damn nice, O’Keefe. I had no idea you were so…dedicated.”
Laughing, they gather their papers and leave the room. Mr O’Keefe sits on his knees, his eyes wide, his lips swollen. He pulls up his trousers but not before I see the bulge in his pants that he’s trying to hide..
My fingers work harder and faster until I feel the orgasm rushing forward then… “Oh, daaaaaaaaaaamn, you dirty bastard” I sigh as I come hard, feeling my pussy gripping at my sunken fingers as my clit spasms and my head swims for a minute. The bathwater is cooling so I let some go and refill it so the steam rises once again. My body tingles with the heat inside and out, and I feel sleepy. But I have so much to write tonight. I wonder if my readers will like the new stuff as much as I do.
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The next day, I go in early. I’m wearing the stockings I bought yesterday. No bra, just the silky vest. I am sexy and daring. The tops of my thighs are cool. I feel like a Christmas present, waiting for someone to take off the wrapping.
Only Mary is there, and we go into the kitchen together. “So today’s the day!” she grins, popping in some toast. “We’ll know if we’ve still got jobs by 5pm. I hope Mr O’Keefe can pull it off.”
I smile, remembering how gallantly he saved us all the night before. I can’t wait to meet Messrs Finn and Montgomery, who are right now flying from London to our little city, the power over our futures in their hands. I’ve only ever seen their photos in the company magazine, or heard their names being mentioned in reverent tones. ‘What do you know about the owners?" I ask Mary, getting Mr O’Keefe’s coffee ready. I want him to be in a good mood today.
Mary’s always keen to gossip. “Well, don’t tell anyone… but I heard Mr Finn was caught misusing company money just a few months back. He got busted by the police when they caught him snorting coke out of a hooker’s arse crack in some brothel.” She leans closer, whispering into my ear. “He’s married to Mr Montgomery’s sister. Apparently, it didn’t go down well at all.”
Still chuckling at the image of small, ginger Mr Finn doing those things, I carry the coffee into Mr O’Keefe’s office and set it on his desk thinking there’s an image that won’t be making its way to my readers for sure. I turn on his computer and open the window to let a bit of fresh air in. I should have brought some fresh flowers in to make the place smell less testosterone-ish. But maybe that’s the smell he likes.
I go into my own small office and start checking emails, voicemail, the in-tray. As I’m listening to the voicemail, I hear a woman’s voice sobbing, slurring her words. “Sean! I’m so sorry I slept with Gerard, it meant nothing, I swear! I was drunk! Please…just talk to me!!! Pleeeeeeease, please… talk to meeeeeee!!!.” A rush of joy sweeps over me. All has become clear! He had a girl who cheated on him, possibly with a friend. That would explain the persistent male caller he was ignoring. The stupid bitch, I think to myself. Oh, if he was mine….Jubilant, I dash off a quick email to Mary. “HE ISN"T GAY!!!!”
When Mr O’Keefe walks past me into his office, I let my eyes linger on his well cut black suit, his slim waist and his muscular buttocks. My insides melt as I think of the broken heart beating under that cool, German-looking exterior. He needs his friends now. People who will look after him in this time of crisis. People like me. Although I have to say he is very good at hiding the heartbreak. He looks alert, excited, ready for anything.
Without a word, he pulls me out of my chair, holding me close to his body. I can feel his heart beating against my chest. “I can’t stand it anymore,” he says and pushes his tongue into my mouth. His lips are soft, and I close my eyes dreamily, tasting the hint of cappuccino on his tongue. His hand fumbles under my skirt and his eyes widen as he feels the place where stocking meets soft thigh. The back of his other hand brushes against my nipples I sigh as I let my thighs part, he pushes between them. I can feel the heat of his erection, just a couple of pieces of fabric stopping it from slipping inside me. The anticipation of pleasure so close makes my head spin.
Continue next page …….
“Caroline?” he says, and I shake my head and hurry into his office. “Any important communications? I don’t want to be bothered with people today.” His fingers drum on the desk, his leg jiggles up and down. His eyes are glued to the computer screen, scanning his emails. “You know Finn and Montgomery are going to be here.” He cursed and muttered under his breath. “English assholes telling me how to…” The complaints become inaudible and I suppress a smile.
“No sir,” I say. “Although there’s something on my voicemail that…I think I got it by mistake.”
He looks at me, an eyebrow raised. “Here’s an interesting one you’ve been hiding from me…who’s not gay?”
Oh Jesus! I’ve sent my message of triumph to the wrong person!!! “It…it doesn’t matter. That was…” I lose the ability to speak as embarrassment slowly starts to strangle me. I can feel the blood scorching my cheeks. He must be fully aware of my feelings now. If I didn’t fancy him, why would I care if he was gay or not?
His eyes are glinting and he’s trying not to smile. I notice his eyes traveling up and down my body as if seeing me for the first time. “Well just divert my calls today. You know where I’ll be. Mr Boyle’s PA will be taking the minutes so you can just get on with answering all these…fuck me, three hundred and thirty emails. And thanks for the coffee, Caroline. You’re very thoughtful.”
“My name is Carmen,” I stammer out. “Like the opera. I’ll be sure to do those things, Mr O’Keefe.” I scurry from the room and hide behind my desk. I daren’t email Mary now so I call her and we plan to meet at 10am when the meeting has started and we’re all free to slack off and do whatever we want.
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We meet up in the café, where all the staff not at the meeting have gathered. All pretence of “business as usual” has been dropped. Our jobs are on the line, and we’re all rooting for Mr. O’Keefe and Mr. Boyle up there in the board room doing battle with the English. When I tell Mary what I’ve done, she does what any sympathetic friend would do. Wiping tears from her eyes, she lets out another peal of laughter and I wonder if she’s getting hysterical. “Ach Carmen!” she says, when she gets her breath back. “You’re an eejit. But it might be a good thing in the end.”
I stared at the floor, feeling the corners of my mouth drooping. “How can it be a good thing? He doesn’t even know my name. And I’ve been his PA for the last three months!”
She put her arm around me. “Well if you don’t mind me saying, that’s just as much your fault as his,” she says. “Did you ever say anything to correct him, before today?” Sighing, I shake my head. I know she’s right, although I won’t take full responsibility. I can’t believe he never noticed my email signature in all that time. I guess he doesn’t think my emails are important enough to read. “Well,” she says. “Now he knows. And with that email, you’ve planted a seed in that thick head of his. He’ll notice you now whether he wants to or not.”
I sip my coffee and contemplate it. Maybe she’s right, maybe not. Then again, maybe he’ll forgive the cow who cheated on him, or maybe he won’t. But how to proceed? The only action I’ve had in the last two years was in my head. I’m not at all experienced in the art of seduction. It’s so much easier when the men aren’t actually real.
The day passes painfully slowly, and by the time they come out of the meeting, my blood is bouncing in my veins, buoyed with caffeine. The owners leave looking satisfied. Mr O’Keefe has a gleam in his eye as he assembles everyone to tell them the news.
“The branch is safe!” Then he shouts on through the cheers. “But some things are going to change, at least how we’re going to deal with underperformance. But we’ll leave that all for tomorrow. Right now, and I don’t know about you lot, but Derek and I…” he claps an arm around a red faced Mr Boyle, “are hitting the Mariner at 5.30. Drinks are on us!”
We’re all laughing and cheering and hugging each other. Drinks on the company can only mean one thing- a load of pissed up colleagues getting their money’s worth. Mary and I will, of course, have a quick drink by ourselves then go on to join the others after. It doesn’t do to be there from the start. Makes you seem desperate or something.
But the one glass of wine turns into a bottle and it’s almost seven by the time we set off to the Mariner. As the cold wind hits my flushed cheeks, I feel a worry tugging at my heart, that maybe he will have already left. Mary reassures me that on nights like this, he’s always there to the death. And sure enough, when we get inside, there’s only a few left and Mr O’Keefe is one of them. I feel a momentary relief when I see that Mr Boyle has gone. It’s been hard to face him after our encounter the other day, even if it was in my head.
They’re drinking toasts. “To Sean, the biggest blagger in the history of sales.” A big male roar goes up. Pretty impressive given the small number of them. They clink their glasses and gulp the beer down, then follow up with a shot of something.
“Jesus!” Mary says, unwinding her scarf and sitting down in the snug. “You’re on chasers? Come on then Carmen! We’ve got some catching up to do!” She pats the seat beside her. Then Mr O’Keefe pats a seat beside him and beckons me with a drunken lurch of his head. Excited, I slide in beside him and Mary gives me a secret thumbs up with a grin.
“See this woman,” he says, clamping an arm around me. “Fucking Caroline I’ve been calling her all this time and she only tells me today that I’m an eejit.” They all have a laugh at my expense but when the topic moves on, Mr O’Keefe’s arm does not and I look at Mary with raised eyebrows.
“Carmen.” He keeps murmuring my name. I think he may be approaching the point of no return. He’s a big man but there’s only so many shots a man can take. His eyelids slide down and he nods a bit. Damn! He’s in no shape to be seduced. He smells of cloves from those fancy Indonesian cigarettes he sometimes smokes. And just a hint of fresh sweat and aftershave. His body is big and solid and warm and sitting there with his arm around my shoulders, I feel an ache in my heart, thinking of the space in my life, in my bed.
Mary starts telling us all about her holidays last summer in Turkey when she was stalked by an elderly nut seller. She still has his false teeth at home somewhere. I’ve heard that story before but it’s still as funny this time. I wonder if she notices the way that lad from the warehouse is looking at her. He’s not bad looking either.
As the night wears on, I switch to water. Last time after a work related do I ended up alone in the city centre on a freezing cold night, puking over my shoes and then sleeping in a doorway. Never again. It’s always better if other people are the butt of jokes the following day, like Mr O’Keefe is going to be by the looks of him. He seems to be getting a second wind, however, he’s perked up again and he’s talking a bit. There’s only the four of us left now and I think Mary’s noticed the attention of the warehouse lad, Will is his name. He’s whispering in her ear and his hand is sliding up her skirt. I notice Mr O’Keefe’s eyes following the progress of the hand. Mary doesn’t push it away.
Mary’s rosy cheeked as she stands up, clutching the back of the snug. “Will and I are going to make a move,” she says. He’s all doe eyed and draped around her like a human handbag so no prizes for guessing who’s going to get laid tonight. I feel a momentary panic about being left alone with Mr O’Keefe. Mary is my safety net, my get out of jail free card. Without her to keep the conversation going, my personality stands or falls on its own merits. Watching them clutching each other and staggering towards the door, I sip my water and look at the table. Anxiety ties my tongue for a minute so I stay quiet, closing my eyes, feeling the presence of his strong body and allowing myself to imagine that he could be there all the time.
His arm is still around me, and now we are alone, he nuzzles my ear through my hair making me shiver despite the stuffy heat of the pub. “Carmen,” he says. “I think I’m a bit pished. Will you take me home?”
I stare into my drink, barely able to breathe. Does he mean take him home to his place? Or dare I hope that my negligee will get a turn tonight? Better be clear before embarrassing myself. “Mr O’Keefe,” I begin, but he puts a finger to my lips. His green eyes are a forest I could lose myself in.
“Call me Sean,” he says. “I’m sick of that stupid hierarchal…” he stops, as if to check that the word has made it out past his slurring tongue, “hierarchical office bullshit.”
Continue next page ……….
“Sean,” I say. It’s a beautiful name, soft and brief, like a sigh. “Where…?”
Where are we going? I was going to say, or- maybe that was too forward- Where do you want to go? But I don’t get the chance. He tilts his head and edges his lips towards mine and when they meet, my heart dances in my chest and I close my eyes, returning the kiss, as he heaves my legs over his lap. I brush my shaking fingertips over the contours of his face and then around the back of his neck. The nape of his neck is damp and hot, his hair soft. His hand is on my knee. I feel the hardness building in his groin. His fingers pry open a button on my jacket and I can feel them brushing the silky material of my top. His lips are soft and insistent and he kisses my breath away, as the other hand inches up my leg. When his fingers pass the lace and touch against my skin, I gasp a little and he breaks the kiss, red faced. “Jesus, no bra?” he whispers in my ear. “And stockings too, damn. You…let’s get out of here?”
He throws my legs down and chugs back his last shot. My head spinning with lust and drink, I button my jacket back and pull on my overcoat and he drapes his arm around me again as we head outside. The wind is chilly and sobering. He flags down a taxi and the minute the door is shut, his mouth seeks mine again and this time, his hand slides right back up my skirt to where it left off. Seems like the stockings have had the desired effect. He pings the lacy elastic gently and I sigh as his lips leave mine, to start planting small kisses around my neck, which land like delicious burns. My body, so long untouched by hands other than my own, is making the most of every sensation. My eyes lose focus as those fingers creep under the elastic of my panties and linger at the wet entrance of my pussy. I notice the taxi driver watching in the mirror, but I don’t care. I open my legs to give Sean better access and he slides his fingers inside me, covering my groan with another hot, lingering kiss.
My jacket is hanging open and I can do nothing but clutch at the back of his head as his lips descend to my breast. His hot breath warms the silky material while his fingers stoke up the need inside me. I’m breathing hard now, trying to be quiet but I can’t stop the whimpers escaping. His tongue circles around the nipple, teasing me until I can hardly bear it any longer. Then I feel the material slide away, and he fastens his lips on the sensitive tip and I feel an explosion of sensation that arches my back and sends hot signals down to where his fingers are sucking in and out of me. I love the sound, I don’t care that the taxi driver hears it too.
The taxi driver clears his throat and Sean stops what he’s doing. He’s looking for directions to my flat. Dazed, I rearrange my clothes while I point out the way. The taxi driver looks a bit red in the face. Not as red as mine soon gets, as I step outside and the chill again pinches at my nipples, and when I bend over to reach the money in to him, he’s looking down my gaping top and he’s got his cock out, playing with it and looking like he wants an invitation to something. Sean’s standing on the pavement like a lost soul, confronted by all the identical apartment blocks. I give the taxi driver short shrift and lead Sean upstairs to my door. I’m so excited my heart is pounding, and I can feel an identical throb inside my pussy which his fingers only aggravated more.
We go inside and I hang up my coat and take his. As I put on the light, his hand crosses his eyes. His lips have suddenly paled and his face has gone the colour of porridge. “I’m going to puke,” he says suddenly. My jaw drops and I almost scream, NOOOO! I watch him swaying for a second before I pull him into the kitchen and sit him in a chair.
“Will I make a cup of tea?” My voice is wobbly, my body burning with unfinished business. This can’t be happening.
He nods, and slumps forward onto the table, resting his head against the cool surface. I take down a couple of cups and go about the familiar ritual, my mind dazed, praying silently. Oh please don’t be sick, please feel better after this, please lets go back to what we were doing. The spoon clinks against the side of the china as I stir in the milk and sugar and hand the cup to him. I have to shake him before he sits up and starts sipping it.
“I’m sorry, Caroline,” he mumbles. I sigh and stare at him, his messed up hair, his flushed cheeks. He finishes the tea and burps, rubbing at his eyes.
“Feeling better?” I gather the cups away.
He nods, and stands up. “C’mere,” he says and pulls me close. I breathe in the scent of his body and sigh again. My sensible side kicks in and I lead him to the guest bedroom.
“You can sleep in here,” I say, and he doesn’t argue. We fall together onto the bed, him on top of me, my legs spread out under the weight of his thighs. He’s so much taller than me. His face is pressed into the quilt above my head. He lets out a snore and I feel the sound vibrate through the material.
His hands roaming over my body, he soon disposes of my clothes and soon my body is arching under his fingers and tongue. My hands slide over his skin to tangle in the damp hairs in his crotch. It’s been so long, so long since anyone touched me, I don’t want to take my time, I want him in me now, I want that heavy, muscular body on top of me and Jesus, he has a big thick cock. I can hardly close my hand around it as I guide it between my legs, rubbing the slick head over my swollen clit then down a bit until I feel its hugeness pushing my pussy lips apart.. His breathing is ragged. “Jesus Caroline,” he says, and rams that thick shaft home. My back arches and I shriek at the force of his entry, clutching at his firm arse, pulling him in as far as I can. His pubic bone grinds against my clit and my hips arch up against him, harder and harder as he drives inside me. Bracing myself against the wall with one hand, I slide the other one between my legs to feel the joining of our bodies, the silken steel of his cock, the soft, wet stretch of my pussy.
My body won’t forget his touch, not just yet. Frustrated and wriggling under his weight, I slip my fingers down into my panties, lubricating them with my juices, rubbing against my swollen clit, pausing to dip them inside now and then as my imagination goes into overdrive.
As he continues his relentless pounding, I feel a sweat break out all over my body. My breasts bounce and my nipples glance off his hard body as it moves above me. My fingers, oh god, they start to move faster as he picks up the pace, getting irregular, gasping until he roars aloud and pauses above me for a second before I feel the twitch and gush of his orgasm inside me. Almost weeping with ecstasy, I feel my orgasm building in my nerve endings all over, and burning its way down to where his cock is still hard and I come with a shriek, thrusting my hips up, arching my back and calling his name. Spent, he collapses on top of me, his cock shrinking inside me. I stroke his back as I feel my breathing slow. His heart is pounding against my skin and I wrap my legs around him, not wanting to let him go.
The fantasy sends me over the edge and I come hard, biting my lip so as not to make a sound, as the waves of pleasure travel all over my body. He’s breathing regularly, deep in slumber. When I’ve got my breath back, I push him off me and pull off his shoes and socks. Then I pull the covers over him best I can. “Sean,” I whisper, stroking his cheek, feeling the start of roughness on his cheeks. I put a glass of water on the table and a bucket on the floor. Then I go into my own bedroom and get in to my bed alone.
Maybe he’ll get up in the morning and not remember what we almost did. Or worse, maybe he’ll remember and regret it. There’s even a chance that he’ll remember and want to do it again. That would be so nice. The recent orgasm and drinks make my body floppy and as I feel sleep rolling over me, I smile to myself.
There’s often a gap between fantasy and reality. Maybe I’ll get to close it tomorrow.
The End