Flesh For Fantasy

by Joan Elizabeth Lloyd

  Tisha didn’t want her to come. But how could she keep the orgasm from building in her belly? She gritted her teeth and tried to fight the myriad of sensations trying to control her body.

  “Stop!” Tisha’s order could not be disobeyed.

  Barbara took a deep breath as the mouths left her. Tisha looked at her. “Get up.” When she did, Tisha ordered, “Pam, you sit there.” Once Pam was stretched out in the lounge chair, her thighs spread wide, one leg on either side of the chair, Tisha leaned over and removed the crotch of Pam’s teddy. “So wet,” she said, then snapped her fingers, and the men resumed their places, now sucking Pam’s nipples.

  “Now, Barbara, lick her the way she licked you. Do it while we all watch.”

  Could she lick a woman’s pussy? Ordinarily, Barbara thought in a small, conscious place in her mind, no. But she was so hot that anything was possible. She knelt at the foot of the lounge chair, lay on the bottom section and pressed her aching breasts against the rough fabric. She rubbed like a cat, trying the relieve the itching hunger in her swollen nipples. As her face neared Pam’s steamy pussy, the odor of the woman’s excitement surrounded her. She looked at Pam’s shaved mound and saw the swollen outer lips, parted to reveal the hard clit between. She pointed her tongue and licked, marveling at the shudder that ran through Pam’s body. She tasted Pam’s juices. So this is what I taste like, she thought, filling her mouth with the salty tang.

  Feeling increasingly brave, she explored every fold, each hollow. Using the things she understood about her own body, she quested the spots that would give Pam the most pleasure. “Finger-fuck her, Barbara. Make her come.” She inserted one finger into Pam’s sopping pussy, smiling at the moans and animal cries that Pam couldn’t control. A second finger joined the first and, knowing what she herself enjoyed, Barbara spread the two fingers, stretching Pam’s channel.

  Suddenly something was behind her and there was a hand in the small of her back pressing her against the chair. She felt something slippery being spread on her ass and cunt.

  “Is she hot?” Tisha asked.

  Someone at her back rubbed her opening. “Soaked. Hot enough to fire.”

  “Do it.”

  As Barbara fingered Pam’s pussy, she felt something rammed into her ass. A dildo? A cock? She couldn’t tell. Then there was a mouth on her cunt. Whose mouth, whose cock? She had no idea. Nor did she care.

  “Don’t you dare come until Pam does.” Tisha said, swatting her ass hard, once. “And Pam, don’t you come until Barbara does.”

  Barbara needed to come. She was trying to concentrate on making Pam climax and not on her own needs screaming inside her. Not yet, she told herself as her mouth worked on Pam’s clit and her fingers fucked her cunt. Just a little more. She used the index finger of her other hand to rim Pam’s asshole. As she slowly circled, she could feel the tiny spasms that heralded the woman’s climax. But she felt her own orgasm building as well.

  “Ah!” Pam screamed as she came, and Barbara’s orgasm erupted seconds later. Wave upon wave of electric pleasure washed over her. She put her head on Pam’s belly and allowed her fingers to softly caress Pam’s calming body. Now her cunt and ass were empty, but she felt someone press against her from behind.

  She turned and watched CJ rub his latex-covered cock between her spread ass cheeks, his head thrown back, his hips bucking. Tisha reached down the front of his tight bicycle pants and quickly removed the cock ring CJ had put on earlier. It took only a moment until, rubbing against Barbara’s ass, he screamed loudly and he came, his cock still inside the latex shorts.

  Barbara rested, then, through a haze, she felt herself guided to her feet and her cloak replaced around her shoulders. She vaguely realized that she was being told how much everyone enjoyed her presence and she numbly said good night to the people she had met.

  CJ directed the taxi to her car, and then, while Barbara dozed, he drove her home to Bronxville, Tisha and Pet following in their car. He kissed her firmly at her door. “They are waiting for me. I’ll call you.”

  “Mmmm,” Barbara said, opening her door. “It was amazing. I’ve never experienced anything like this.”

  “I’m glad. It was great for me, too. I never know where these parties will lead, but it’s always wonderful. Tonight was particularly terrific because I know how much you enjoyed it, too.”

  “You weren’t disappointed because I couldn’t…you know.”

  “Whatever you enjoy is great, and the things you find you don’t, we won’t do. It’s really quite simple.”

  “Thank you,” Barbara said, kissing him again.

  “Good night.” CJ climbed into the waiting car and Barbara closed the door behind her and went to bed.

  Chapter

  10

  “I think I reached the ultimate of something last evening,” Barbara said the following morning as she and Maggie sat over coffee. “It’s the best time I’ve had in maybe forever, but after I got home I thought a lot about it, and about me.”

  “Thinking’s always dangerous,” Maggie said dryly, “but tell me about it.”

  “I think that I understand myself a lot better than I did a few months ago. Last evening was wonderful, but that was outside of the real world. It’s not life.”

  “And what is life.”

  “For me, life is having mad, wild sex with one person, someone I know and like. Someone who pleases me inside and outside of the bedroom. CJ is a wonderfully creative lover, but that’s all. He’s sort of out of context.” Barbara slumped. “This is really hard to explain.”

  “I think I understand.”

  “But your life with Chuck wasn’t life either. What I need is equal parts friend and lover. What’s depressing me is that I’m not sure something like that really exists.”

  “I’m not sure either,” Maggie said, lacing her fingers. “But all you can do is try.”

  “Which do you think comes first, the friendship or the sex?”

  “I think for there to be really good sex, there has to be a level of trust and friendship, a desire to please the other person. It can develop over a period of months or just in a day. Take you and Jay. From what you told me, you started the relationship for sport fucking, but it was a lot more than that from the start.”

  Barbara looked puzzled. “But I wasn’t in love with him nor he with me. And we weren’t and aren’t exclusive by any means.”

  “All that is true, but there was a lot of genuine caring and concern, each for the other. No one was taking anything at the expense of the other. Right?”

  Barbara cocked her head to one side. “Right.”

  “That’s not love, but it’s the kind of caring necessary for really good sex.”

  “I never thought about it that way.”

  “Actually, neither did I until now,” Maggie admitted. “But as I think back to my good and bad bed partners, it’s true.”

  “I guess Jay and I did have a lot of mutual respect and caring. Just not enough to build a life on. So then, what is love?”

  “You think I know? I haven’t a clue. To be completely honest, I think I have been in love a few times. Not just in lust, but really in love. Caring about someone else’s happiness more than my own. Maybe it was that way when Chuck and I were first married.” Then she thought about Paul and their last phone conversation the night of her heart attack. “And there was a guy who wanted to run away with me. He was a banker type and twenty years my junior. It never would have worked, but I did love him, in my own way.”

  “I’ve never felt that, and I want it. I guess I’ll just have to keep looking.”

  “What about Steve.”

  Barbara smiled. “Maybe it’s time I found out what Steve is really like. I’ve been in love with him from a distance, whatever that means, for a long time. But, what I understand now is that from a distance is easy. It’s the up-close-and-personal stuff that’s hard.”

  “And it’s more difficult with someone who you’re going to see every day,
whether it works out or not.”

  “I know. I keep wondering whether it’s worth it. It doesn’t seem so important or intense now.”

  “Do you want to find out?” Maggie asked.

  “I think I do.”

  Later that morning, Maggie left the kitchen and, as she had dozens of times before, found herself in the revolving door. Instead of pushing to see when she would emerge, she stopped in the dark and said aloud, “Lucy, Angela, I think we need to talk.”

  “Push the door,” a voice said and, when she did, she found herself in the computer room. “Yes?” Angela said.

  “I was wondering what there is left for me to do. Barbara has discovered herself and I think she’s a happier, more complete woman. She’s going to ask Steve to dinner and maybe they will end up together, just like you wanted. So what more is there?”

  Lucy looked at her. “Do you think Steve is right for her?”

  “How should I know?” Maggie snapped. “I’m trying to do what you asked me to do when you gave me this assignment.”

  “I still think Steve is perfect for Barbara,” Angela said.

  “Not a chance,” Lucy said. “And Maggie, there are still one or two things left that Barbara will need your help with.”

  “If you say so,” Maggie said, turning toward the door. “I just want to do the best job I can, you know.”

  “Of course. Just a few last loose ends. We’ll send for you when we know the outcome.”

  “Hers or mine?” Maggie said.

  “Both,” the two women said in unison.

  Barbara arrived at Gordon-Watson at her usual time the following Monday morning. She had taken particular care with her wardrobe, selecting a sheer white blouse and short tan linen skirt. She topped the blouse with a brown linen vest so that the sheerness of the blouse and the lacy bra she wore beneath were only evident when she unbuttoned or removed the vest. She wore sheer stockings and brown suede pumps. She took care that her makeup was sexy yet understated, then applied a new, musky perfume behind her ears and in her cleavage.

  She settled at her desk and by nine-thirty was deep into a will she was assembling from a set of stock paragraphs. “Good morning, Barbara,” Steve said as he approached her desk.

  She looked up and held his gaze just a bit longer than usual. “Good morning, Mr. Gordon.”

  “What’s on my calendar for today?” he said, breezing past her desk.

  Barbara picked up her laptop, then followed him into his office. She settled into a soft leather chair, crossed her legs and slipped one shoe off then lifted it with her toe. Then she clicked a few keys on her computer. “You’ve got the Harris deposition at ten-thirty, lunch with Jack Forrester at twelve-thirty, and, if the deposition doesn’t go too late, you can go over Mr. Carruthers’s will and the McManister closing documents for tomorrow. And, whenever you have time, I have a list of phone calls you need to make.” As she looked up, she saw Steve gazing at her swinging foot. She smothered a smile as she shifted in her chair, moving so her skirt rode up to midthigh. “Do you have anything for me?” she asked with mock innocence. When he didn’t answer immediately, his eyes following her foot and the dangling shoe, she said, “Mr. Gordon?”

  “Yes?”

  “Did you hear me?” Barbara asked.

  Obviously snapping back to reality, Steve said, “Of course.” He picked up a pencil from his desk and tapped it on the arm of his chair. “Barbara, I’ve been meaning to talk to you. You’ve seemed different recently.”

  “Different?” She slowly unbuttoned her vest and allowed the sides to part.

  “More…” He looked her over from head to toe, his gaze lingering on her breasts. “More, I don’t know. Just more.”

  She lowered her head so she looked up at him through her lashes. “I hope I can take that as a compliment.”

  “You can.” He looked her over again. “Listen, maybe we can have dinner sometime.”

  “Are you asking me out on a date?”

  Steve hesitated, then said, “I guess I am.”

  “Well, I’d love to have dinner with you, Mr. Gordon.” Barbara giggled. “I guess I should call you Steve now.”

  “I guess you should.” He stood up and walked around and positioned himself behind Barbara’s chair. She could feel him touch her hair. “You know,” he said, “you’re quite something. I’m surprised at myself for not really noticing before now.”

  Delighted that they were finally going to get to spend some time together, Barbara said, “Shall we say Saturday?”

  She could feel Steve playing with the silver streak in her hair. “Saturday sounds great. How about Indian?”

  Afraid she would spoil the mood but unwilling to eat very hot food, Barbara said, “I’m not a big fan of curry. How about sushi?”

  “Raw fish?” He made a face. “I know a great steak place.”

  Barbara grinned. “That sounds wonderful.” She was glad they had found common ground.

  “And Saturday I have tickets for the City Center Ballet. I was going to ask my mother to join me, but I’d much rather have you by my side.”

  Barbara remembered several trips to the ballet with her mother years before. She had found it stultifying. “The ballet might be nice, and if you already have the tickets…” She wondered whether the gorgeous Lisa enjoyed the ballet.

  “I try to get there every week or so during the season, but I can tell from your voice it isn’t your idea of an enjoyable evening. I’ll just give the tickets to my mother and we can go wherever you like.” He sat down on the chair beside her and placed a hand on her knee. “Where would you like to go?” He gazed deeply into her eyes. “I mean, if you could go anywhere.”

  Barbara thought. She had read the entertainment section of The New York Times just yesterday. “There’s a Woody Allen film festival.”

  “Oh,” Steve said, taking a deep breath. “That would be fine.”

  Barbara could tell he viewed Woody Allen the way she viewed the ballet. “Maybe just a small, intimate place where we could talk,” she said quickly. “We could take some time and get to know each other. And maybe do some slow dancing.”

  Steve’s face brightened. “That sounds wonderful. But I have to warn you, I don’t dance.”

  Barbara stared at Steve. She had been in love with him for so long. But in love with what? He was handsome, well dressed, and very intelligent. But what did they really have in common? “What do you enjoy doing? Tennis? Golf?”

  “Actually, I love swimming and I lift weights. And, of course, I really like sports. But you already know that.”

  She had gotten enough last-minute tickets for sporting events over the years for him that she should. But she had never made the connection. “That’s right. Of course. You particularly like boxing.”

  “I love a good heavyweight match,” Steve said, taking her hand. “I guess you probably don’t like that sort of thing, but you could learn. It’s an acquired taste, like anchovies.”

  “I hate anchovies, and I think the idea of watching two men beat each other’s brains out for money is barbaric.” She pulled her hand back.

  “We don’t have to like the same things, do we?” He cupped her chin and pulled her face toward him. He kissed her softly on the lips. “I’m sure there are some things we will enjoy doing together very much.”

  She closed her eyes and leaned into the kiss. His lips were warm and moist and his tongue slipped between her teeth to caress her. Suddenly she felt his hand on her breast, squeezing and kneading her tender flesh like bread dough. His other hand began to unbutton her blouse. “No,” she said, leaning back. “I don’t think this will work.”

  “But, baby…” Steve said, reaching behind her neck to cradle her head. He kissed her harder, forcing her head back.

  She placed her palms against his chest and pushed him back. “Steve, Mr. Gordon, I don’t think this will work at all. I’m really sorry. It was a mistake.” She stood up, put the laptop onto Steve’s desk and rebuttoned both
her blouse and vest. “This was really a big mistake.”

  “Oh, baby, don’t say that. I’m sorry. This shouldn’t have started in the office. Not here where there’s no privacy. I understand. Let’s talk about it Saturday.”

  “No, Mr. Gordon, let’s not. Let’s not see each other Saturday. This isn’t going to work. I’m really sorry.”

  “But…”

  “Look. We’ve worked well together for all these years. This is just going to spoil it. Let’s just keep this as a business relationship. I like working here and I do the work well. Let’s just leave it at that.”

  Steve stood up and heaved a deep sigh. “I think you’re underestimating how good we could be.”

  She floundered for the right words to tell him to go away without losing her job. “Maybe I am, Mr. Gordon, but I’d rather keep a good relationship here in the office than spoil it with a extracurricular fling, no matter how good it might be.” Or how awful.

  “I’m disappointed.”

  “So am I, but I think it’s for the best.” She retrieved her laptop. “Did you have anything more for me or should I begin placing those phone calls? We can probably get a few things done before the deposition.”

  Steve looked Barbara over from head to toe. “Well, maybe you’re right.” Slowly Barbara left the office and walked toward her desk. Then she turned, looked at the sign beside the door. Steven Gordon. She shrugged, then grinned.

  “Babs,” a voice cried from the end of the soup-and-canned-vegetable aisle in the supermarket a few weeks later. Barbara had stopped in after work to pick up something for dinner. “Babs,” the voice said again. “Imagine running into you here.”

  She looked around for the source of the slightly louder than necessary voice. Striding toward her was a person she hadn’t been able to forget. “Hello, Walt,” she said softly.