18-07-17

It's Just Business Chapter 1: Surprise Meeting

The young woman was in her early twenties, tall, maybe five feet ten or eleven, which gave her at least two inches on me.   Slender - by contemporary standards she was skinny - with small breasts (a 32-B bra size, I guessed, not more than a C) and a tight, boyishly small ass under loose jeans and a baggy thin sweater that did nothing to hide what I felt was a great body.   When I first saw her she was walking in the canned goods section of the mega-supermarket, leaning forward with her forearms resting on the push bar of her buggy.   I considered my options and waited until she was in the produce section, with no one else around, before speaking.

"I'm not trying to be rude or obnoxious," I told her quietly, with a smile, "but you have a truly lovely face and an equally lovely body.   Slouching like that detracts from you God given good looks and gives you an air of - indecisiveness."   Her pale blue eyes widened as she tried to decide whether to be angry or shocked or both, and I shrugged, keeping the smile.   "I meant no harm.   Now you can tell me to get lost and go to hell."

I half expected her to tell me to do both but I've made my living reading people and I sensed a depression in her, a lack of confidence that, quite frankly, made her vulnerable.   Even more importantly, I sensed a need for reassurance - and that also made her vulnerable.   On impulse I'd decided to become the hunter.   "My mother always told me that," she said quietly, deciding not to send me running down the aisle to the sound of her screams or shouts.   Then, quickly, she added, "About my face, that is.   No one has ever said that I have a - lovely body."

The wedding ring she wore wasn't overly large but it wasn't an el-cheapo variety either.   "Any husband would tell his wife that she was lovely," I replied, "especially when the truth comes easily."

Without thinking, she brushed her light brown hair away from her face and said, "My husband thinks I'm too skinny, that I look like a boy."   No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she realized that she was telling secrets to a complete stranger and she blushed faintly.

"Then your husband is either totally stupid or just brain dead," I chuckled.   "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that.   As I said, I have no intention of being rude or obnoxious.

"My name is Jake Kelly," I added quickly, before she could respond, giving her my name so I would seem less threatening.   Volunteering a name does disarm people.   They suddenly see a person who is no longer a stranger.   "I apologize for unintentionally being so rude.   Forgive me, Mrs. --- "

"Patricia Thomas," she answered, almost a reflex action, and I was pleased that disarming her was at least partially successful.   "Trish.   I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Kelly."

"Jake, please," I smiled and extended my hand.   She hesitated in taking it and I had just started to back off when she reached out for a brief touch, her grip timid and wary.   Moving on in the disarmament process, I added, "I've learned to actually enjoy shopping here after midnight.   There's less chance of being run over by some rabid shopper with a runaway grocery cart.   I bruise easily."

That earned me a soft laugh and I started to turn away with my buggy, stopping halfway through the movement as if suddenly having an unexpected thought.   "Would you care to join me in a cup of coffee or something?" I asked.   "The other good thing about shopping at this ungodly hour is that the restaurant isn't crowded, either."

There was the normal brief hesitation but, when she decided that I was too polite and too well dressed to be a threat - appearances are deceiving although I really didn't mean her any harm - she agreed.   Side-by-side we turned and made our way to the informal dining area.   I noticed that she had no perishables in her cart and smiled to myself.

During the next thirty minutes I let her know that I was a former federal cop - retired on a minor medical condition - and working as chief of security in a large petroleum company home based in New Orleans.   That also helped make me seem less of a threat, as did the fact that I was divorced and too busy to seek another mate - and explaining why I was shopping after midnight.   In return I learned that she twenty-four, married for three years, and basically unhappy. She was shopping so late because her husband, who was also in petroleum, was in South America for two weeks, hadn't even tried to take her with him, and had left her alone in a small apartment where she was slowly going crazy with boredom.   Along the way I was able to make her laugh and it was obvious that she wasn't paying any attention to the time.

She was enjoying herself, enjoying being the center of my attention, and I was confident that I could arrange to meet her some other time for another friendly cup of coffee - and, probably, more.  There was no need for haste and I knew that hunting women often requires tact and patience.

And that was when she surprised me.   "I won't let you fuck me," she said quietly in what had turned out to be a series of comfortable silences.

Hiding my surprise, I shrugged and said, "I didn't ask you."

"You haven't asked yet," she corrected.   "You intend to.   Or - do you?"

She'd surprised herself as well, I saw, and I grinned.   "The thought has occurred to me.   I told you, I think you're a lovely young woman."

"I won't let you fuck me," she repeated, more confidently once her judgement had been confirmed.   I hadn't given up, of course, and I started to lie and say that I would quit thinking about the possibility, but she continued and surprised me a little more.  "It's not necessary, even if I would ever consider cheating on my husband.   Which I won't.   It's not necessary."

Repeating the statement told me that she had something in mind.   "How so?"   I asked, suspecting that I knew where she was leading and not minding at all.

"I - I don't respond well to - to normal sex, Jake."   She blushed deeply, hesitated, and then felt the normal necessity to fill the void in conversation.   "I - I only have - orgasm - when I - when I do oral sex on a man.   My husband hates that, thinks it's dirty and disgusting.  Or when I - make the man come with my hand.   I have orgasm when I - when I feel the man - come in my mouth and especially when I can see him come on my hand, when he - shoots onto my hand or my face or my breasts.   Frankie thinks that he has to come inside of me or else it's not real sex."

"Your husband is a fucking asshole," I thought but did not say.

"That sounds good to me," I replied truthfully.   "The important thing is to make the woman happy, regardless of what it takes to do so.   I promise, I won't try to fuck you unless you tell me that's what you want."

Averting her eyes shyly, looking down at her coffee cup, she swallowed, blushing.   "You're making fun of me, Jake."

"No, I'm not."   My words were soft and my right hand reached across the table to cover hers reassuringly.   "What I am thinking is that I very much want to - to make you come, Trish."

The silence grew between us but I sensed victory.   When she finally looked up at me I saw fear in her eyes but I also saw a strange determination.   "I can't - I can't take you back to my apartment.   And I'm - I'm afraid to go to your place just yet."

"We could go to a motel," I offered, ever so gently, "or to my office.   It's not far from here and no one will be there until eight o'clock Monday.   Even the cleaning crew is gone by now."

"Your - your office.  Yes."

I was driving a company vehicle, a black Suburban with tinted windows, and we took that, leaving her van parked on the supermarket lot.   We could have had our sexual tryst on a dark corner of the lot, but although I suspected that she was adventurous, I also suspected that too soon would be tawdry to her.  Actually, the fact that she had chosen the office surprised me and my cop instincts picked up a bit.  "Would you do me a favor?" I asked as we made our way along the surprisingly empty New Orleans streets.

"If I can," she said, breaking her silence.  "What?"

"Take off your sweater and bra," I suggested.   "I know you'll have to put them back on when we get out of the car, but - please?"

She glanced around, an intelligent woman, to confirm that the chances of being seen by other drivers were slim, and then she quickly peeled the sweater over her head, giving me a view of her black brassiere.   She hesitated then but, tensing her shoulders, reached back and opened the clasp, holding the bra in place momentarily and then willing herself to let it fall away.   "You're lovely," I whispered.  "Thank you."

"They're too damned small!" she protested, weakly, but I heard the pleasure in her voice.   "Donnie says I look like a boy."

"He's wrong," was all I said in reply, braking for a stop light and taking the opportunity to look at the small, firm mounds of flesh.   Make that a 32-C, I told myself.   I like small breasted, slender women.   Gently I reached out and touched her cheek with the back of my hand, feeling her shiver, and she closed her eyes but made no effort to move away.   Then, ever so slowly, I let my hand slide down her throat, down her chest, until my fingers could tease her tiny, erect nipple.   Her breath caught in her throat and then she sighed.

"I - I like that," she whispered.

"Yes.   So do I."

I was tempted to rush to the office but I kept my speed right on the posted limit, glancing at her only on occasion but letting my hand explore the small mound of firm, warm flesh.  She let her head fall back against the seat, eyes closed, and trembled under my touch.  Suddenly she tensed, her breath catching again, and I felt a series of small shudders rush through her body.  Just from having me play with her breasts she'd come and I knew that she'd surprised herself as well.  "That - that was nice," she whispered, covering my hand on her breast and then lowering her lips to kiss it. "It's been so long."

There were actually two offices where I could have taken her.  The first was a satellite, small, isolated and highly secure, the best place to go for a little after hours sex on company property.   I chose the more formal setting in corporate headquarters simply to impress her.  As we approached the skyscraper she slipped her sweater over her head with surprising reluctance, placing the bra in her purse.  The guard on duty waved me through his checkpoint without question, not asking me to sign the log, and paying little attention to the woman since she was with me.  The elevator whisked us to the 60th floor and I escorted her into my office, locking the door behind us, turning on only one light on the opposite side of the room from the floor-to-ceiling windows.  Trish automatically crossed the room to look down on the New Orleans CBD and the Mississippi River.  I'd wanted to impress her and I could tell that she was impressed.

Turning to face me, she smiled and, without being told, again pulled the sweater over her head and casually let it drop to the floor.  It never occurred to her that there was a slight chance someone might see her so close to the windows - or she simply didn't care.  "I hope," she told me, slowly unzipping her jeans, "that the guard didn't notice that hardon. Now, show it to me."

I took my time stripping to my jockey shorts, dropping my suit to the floor as casually as she'd discarded her sweater, and she entertained me by slowly shucking the jeans down her long, slender legs and then touching herself.   Her left hand toyed with her bare breasts and her right dipped down to touch her pussy through her black bikini panties.   I felt her eyes fixed on the bulge of my cock in my shorts and instead of removing them I moved closer to her, cupping her breasts and lightly squeezing.  "I'll let you take it out," I whispered.

She grinned and reached down to touch my cock, actually gasping at its hardness.  "It's - huge!" she whispered.

"It's yours," I promised, moving my lips to her left nipple and lightly sucking the tender bud.

Her hands fumbled with the elastic band of my jocks and freed my rigid hardon, her fingers closing lovingly on the throbbing eight inches, one hand holding my head, drawing my mouth tightly against her breast.   As my shorts finally fell to the carpeted floor, her hand stroking me lightly, she whispered, "I won't let you fuck me, Jake, but I want you to touch my pussy.   Touch my through my panties and then, when I tell you, rip them off!   Make me come on your hand first."

I obeyed, concentrating on making her come and trying to ignore her hand moving on my cock, my fingers finding the wetness on her panties to show her heat.   Almost instantly she groaned and came on my hand, and, gasping loudly, she ordered me to rip her panties away leaving her naked.   I obeyed that, too, sliding my middle finger into her hot, wet pussy, feeling the contractions of her orgasm, her hand motionless on my dick, squeezing almost painfully.   "Oh, God! Oh, God!" she gasped repeatedly, her left arm around my neck to keep herself from falling.   Then, quickly, she pushed away on wobbly legs, directing me to sit in my chair, facing the windows.   Sinking to her knees in front of me, she slowly began to stroke my cock, watching it intently, carefully avoiding making me come too soon.

"You have no idea how much I love this, Jake Kelly," she whispered.   "You have no idea how beautiful your cock is to me."

"I know how fucking beautiful it feels to have you naked in front of me, jerking me off, Trish," I replied.

"Tell me when to stop, Jake," she said, no longer giving orders but pleading with me.   "I want this to last.   Tell me before you come so I can do it longer."

Then she began talking as she slowly jerked my rod, and I knew that she was talking to herself rather than to me.   I didn't mind.

"My husband's cock isn't like this, not this big, not this thick, and not this fucking hard!   He won't let me play with it like I need to.   He won't let me jerk him off.   He won't let me suck his cock.   He won't let me see him shoot his load onto my face and my tits.   I wouldn't mind letting him fuck my pussy from time to time if he'd let me do what you're letting me do.   I'd even let him fuck me in the ass if he did.   He wants to fuck me in the ass.   But I just want to suck cock and jerk cock off and watch come spurt out in long, hot streams of sticky white cream, burning my face and my tits and my belly.   God, you have no idea how much I love to see that!   And how much I love scooping it up on my fingers and tasting it and swallowing it!"

"Slow!" I whispered urgently, feeling my load ready to shoot.   "Slow, Trish, slow!"

Loosening her grip, her hand motionless on my cock, she smiled and waited, giving me time to draw back from my orgasm.   A smile teased her lips and when she looked up at me I could actually see gratitude.   I knew then that this wouldn't be the only time I had her and I knew that, eventually, I would fuck her pussy and maybe even her ass.   But that could wait.   That could wait a long, long time.   A blowjob and a good handjob were always welcome.   "Play with your pussy," I told her, taking control.

Shifting my position, I looked down between her legs as she kneeled in front of me and she seemed to sense what I wanted, shifting her position slightly so I could see her shaved pussy, her left hand sliding between her legs and her index finger finding her still swollen clit.    "I don't need to do this to come, Jake," she whispered.

"I know, but I want to watch you come playing with your pussy.   Now, jack me off again, slowly."

It's a fantastic turn-on for me to watch a woman play with her cunt while she's sucking my cock or jerking me off and I watched in total fascination as she obeyed me.   Leaning forward slightly I began to cups her naked breasts, pinching the rock hard nipples, and she closed her eyes, mouth open and breathing ragged.   Christ, I thought, it takes this fucking woman about thirty seconds to make herself pant and groan and come!   Her old man is a fucking idiot not to be using her every Goddamned night!   I think I will take her up the ass, eventually, just to take what that stupid fuck is missing!

"Not tonight, but soon, Jake, I also want you to make me kneel in front of you while you fuck my mouth and shoot your cream deep into my throat.   I want you to rape my mouth - later."

"Suck it now," I commanded.   "I don't want to come in your mouth tonight, but I want you to suck it now."

The words hit her hard and, slipping my dick past her lips, she went rigid as a board, orgasm racing thorough her slender body, and I pulled on her head to drive my cock into her throat.   She nearly choked but recovered quickly, and then, still coming on her hand, began moving her head up and down on my pole.   Sensing that I was ready to come, she suddenly stopped, making me groan, but I didn't resist, and when she let my meat slip out of her mouth she lowered her face and began to lick my balls while her hand merely gripped the rigid shaft.  "Wait!" I gasped, almost over the edge.

Again she paused, squeezing the base of my cock, holding back my orgasm, smiling to herself and getting her breathing back to normal.   "Is it time to feed me you come?" she asked after several minutes, speaking only when she was certain that I had withdrawn from the edge.

"Goddamned right it is!" I agreed.   "Make me come all over you, woman!"

"On my tits!" she hissed.   "Come on my tits so I can see you shoot your load, and then watch me eat your hot, precious come!?

Her left hand lightly cupped my balls while her right worked slowly, at first, on my cock.   I fought back, trying to make it last as long as possible, and that amused her, making her laugh with pleasure.   Twice more she came but she didn't slow her work jerking me off.   I wanted to warn her but suddenly I felt my balls tighten - apparently she did too - and I had no control as my ass lifted off my chair, my back arching and my come shooting out to splatter on her bare tits and on her face as well.   It felt like I kept pumping out my load until I had given her a quart and still she jerked me off, leaning forward to suck the swollen head of my cock, licking up the last drops of semen as her hand moved.   The sensation was so fucking intense that I actually wondered if I would black out from pleasure!

Then she stopped moving her hand.   Still holding my throbbing cock, she smiled at me, silently begging me to watch as she used her left hand to capture the white cream sticking to her smooth flesh.   I had no doubt that she was enjoying herself as she scooped it up and then licked it off her fingers, savoring the flavor and suddenly arching her back as another even more violent orgasm rocked her.   "Oh, Jesus Christ!" she groaned, her body convulsing. "Jesus! Yes! Yes, that's it!  Oh, fuck, I'm coming again!"

I don't remember moving but about thirty minutes later I opened my eyes to find that we were both naked on the thick carpet, holding each other, her hand lovingly gripping my softening cock.   She was still asleep and the smile on her lips was surprisingly angelic.  I glanced at my wristwatch and saw that we'd been in the office for nearly two hours.   "I really do have to go home, Jake," she whispered a little later, eyes still closed, "but anytime you want this again - " her eyes opened at that, "I'll be ready for you.   Anytime and anywhere!"

I would soon learn that she meant every word, and I would also learn that I was addicted to this skinny young woman with the small tits and seemingly endless appetite for cock and come.

09:37 Gepost door Pé de Cenoura | Permalink | Commentaren (0) |  Facebook |

De commentaren zijn gesloten.