by Bridy McAvoy
That thought brought me to the brink of another orgasm and, rather than let him see that look of ecstasy on my face, I turned my back to him as I let the skirt fall. I was wearing a thicker blouse today, so I was wearing the pink underwear he’d only seen once or twice. The boy-shorts style panties hugged my ass and, as I bent over to push the tight skirt down my legs, they stretched across my butt. I heard him whistle in appreciation and I shuddered in pleasure at getting such a reaction. While standing there facing the wall, I shrugged my blouse off my shoulders, letting it slip down my arms and off.
When I turned back to face him I could see the hunger in his eyes, and the way his erection tented the front of his pants. For a moment I wondered if he ever visited a real strip club. If he did, was he comparing my performance to the professionals, and did I measure up? That thought train almost derailed me as the track rebooted again and the mellow tones of the lead singer started to fill the room once more.
He patted his lap. Obviously time for me to change from being a stripper on my own personal stage to being a lap-dancer—up close and personal. There were no no-touch rules here. The minute I got on his lap, his hands would be all over me.
Instead of doing that, I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled toward him. Once I reached his legs I placed my palms on the inside of his knees and pushed them out, crawling into the space. I was hot and wet and my panties were soaked. I didn’t want to soak the front of his suit trousers, but he solved that problem, motioning for me to back up a little. He half-rose, dropped his trousers and boxers to below his knees, then sat down again. Of course, now his knees wouldn’t stretch out like I wanted. I, in turn, applied my own solution, undoing his shoes then pulling them and his trousers off. The boxers disappeared into the corner of the room with a negligent toss—just the way he usually disposed of my underwear. He laughed at that then spread his legs apart, enticing me closer.
I moved close, resting my breasts on his now naked thighs, and pressing them against him as I slid up his body. His cock fitted neatly into my cleavage then slid down as I slid up. I undid the catch on my bra and, with my breasts just in front of his face, quickly stripped the shoulder straps down before clasping the cups to my breasts with one hand and leaning back. His hands came up and supported me from behind. I smiled a quick thank you then tossed the bra away and writhed in front of him.
I repeated the move—this time with breasts naked—and then slid back down, trapping his cock between my breasts and then titty-fucking him for a few strokes. He groaned so I pulled away. I wanted mine too and I didn’t want to wait. Turning my back, I bent over until my hands were wrapped around my ankles, stretching my panties across my butt and presenting it to him. For a moment I thought I’d made a mistake—I was in a perfect position to be spanked, my butt presented to him as if on a plate. He reached out with one hand and just stroked my left cheek. I breathed a sigh of relief.
He reached out both hands to my waist then started to slide my panties down. I stood, looking back over my shoulder, my hand pressed theatrically over my mouth as if in shock as he pulled them down onto my thighs. I kicked my legs until they fell to my ankles then, stepping out of them, turned to face him. I was naked now except for my garters, stockings and heels and I could see his cock sticking straight up. I wanted that cock, and I wanted it now.
I didn’t give him chance to react, let alone stop me, as, pushing his legs together, I straddled him, then swarmed up into his lap. My breasts were right in front of his face as I positioned myself. His teeth found a nipple as I used one hand to maneuver his cock to the entrance of my slit and I sank down onto it, fucking myself rather than letting him fuck me.
It felt fantastic—really, really good. I think I came before I had taken his entire length into me. As I started to bounce up and down on his lap, the singer crooned out the chorus line again.
… way you move…
I think I was cumming continuously as I fucked him with abandon. It didn’t last long—couldn’t last long—and he erupted into me, his hands clinging onto my churning waist. A minute or so later, sated, I lifted off him and collapsed to the floor, watching his red face as he struggled to control his own breathing. For a minute I thought I might have gone too far, wondering how I’d explain things to the paramedics, but he recovered.
He made me stay naked after that and, just before home time, he fucked me once more. This time, though, it was on the carpet rather than on the hard top of his desk, his strokes slow and languid. It took him a long time to cum as he held me pinned under his weight. I didn’t cum, but it was still nice. He might have been a pervert, but he made sure I came as often as he could.
Chapter Three – A Has Been
That Thursday was memorable for me for another reason too. I’d been down in the dumps after being dumped like that by Kirk, then fucked into multiple orgasms by my lover after having done a striptease for the very first time.
As a result I walked into the supermarket, not the one you would be working at soon, but a different one on the other side of town nearer home. I picked up a few essentials and was heading toward the checkout when I spotted some spaghetti on offer. As I stopped sharply to check, the guy behind me bumped his cart into me.
“Ow!”
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t expect you to stop. You seemed so determined to escape this place.”
“It’s okay, you startled me rather than hurt me.” I rubbed my butt with one hand.
“I could rub it better for you, if you like.”
I looked up at him for the first time. He was about forty, salt and pepper hair, and quite handsome. His suit proclaimed him to be something in management, but he was cute—if a little on the older side.
“Does that line work often when you bump into young women on purpose?”
He grinned. “If you’ll let me take you to dinner tonight, it would have worked, in total, once.”
I couldn’t help it, he was so disingenuous. I’d heard about men who could charm a woman out of her panties, and I guessed I’d just met one.
The trouble was, my pussy and said panties were still full of Mr. Bryant’s cum, and I needed my usual Thursday night pampering—a long soak in the bath.
“I’m sorry, I can’t tonight.”
“Let me guess, washing your hair?”
I shook my head but couldn’t avoid smiling back at him. “Something like that.”
“Ah, Thursday night is bath night. A long soak so you’re nice and soft for your boyfriend tomorrow.”
“Right about the bath, not about the boyfriend.”
His eyes flared wide, he put his hand over his heart and pantomimed staggering back in shock. “No boyfriend? What do they put in the coffee in this town?”
He looked so silly in his thousand-dollar suit flirting with me so outrageously. I couldn’t do anything other than giggle, knowing that was me flirting right back.
“So, how about dinner tomorrow night?”
Since I was now doomed to spending the night alone, I decided I would accept. “That would be nice. Yes, I’d love to.”
“Good. Do you like Italian or French?”
Given that I was holding a packet of Italian spaghetti in my hand at that moment I just waved it at him.
“Good, I know this fantastic little pasta place in town. How’s seven for you?”
“That would be great.”
“There we go. I’ll look forward to it. I guess I do need one thing.”
“Oh?”
“Your name and your address so I can pick you up.”
“Ah, I guess that would help. I’m Samantha, but I’d rather meet you there.”
“Oh?”
“Long story—I don’t travel well as a passenger.”
“Oh, okay.”
In the past I’d seen other guys’ faces fall when I said I’d meet them there. They automatically assumed I was going to stand them up. This guy seemed unfazed by it. He assumed I was telling the truth.
“
I’m Roger by the way. Roger Winscott.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Winscott.”
“Roger, please.”
I’d extended my hand to him to shake, automatically. Instead, he lifted the back of my hand to his mouth and just brushed his lips across the skin. Right there and then I knew I was going to get more than a meal tomorrow night.
I had had one ulterior motive. I’d been checking for a ring, or for tan lines on either hand, ending up satisfied there were none.
“I’m not married. Been divorced for ten years.”
“That’s okay, a girl has to check.” I blushed a little—I’d tried not to be obvious, but he’d caught me.
“But, of course.”
“I’ll see you there, then.”
I turned to walk away but he coughed and I turned back. He was grinning. “You’ve forgotten one thing.”
“Oh?”
“Luigi’s, on the corner of Sixteenth and Bank.”
“Ah. That would help, of course. Look, I have to go.”
“Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I watched as his gaze ran down my body and then back up again. It didn’t linger but it still sent a shiver through me. I checked out of the store in a daze and headed home. Once I was in the car I could smell my own arousal, and embarrassment flooded through me, wondering if he’d also caught the whiff of a well-fucked woman.
* * * *
I’d pleaded with Mr. Bryant to let me go on time on Friday, and he’d been happy for that, even letting me leave ten minutes early. I already had my outfit at the condo. I’d visited the night before, and made sure the bed was changed and the milk in the refrigerator was fresh. Now I sped to the lakeside, quickly showered and started getting ready.
Even though I rushed, I wanted to make sure I looked my very best, so when I arrived at the restaurant I was fifteen minutes late. That made me nervous—I didn’t like being late. I’d also had to park away down the street. Either this place I was going to, or somewhere else nearby, was busy. By the time I reached the door I was almost out of breath. Stepping inside, I looked for my date and couldn’t see him. A crushing disappointment started to settle on me—he’d stood me up. Then the maître’d approached me.
“Can I help you, miss…?” His Italian accent was sexy. As you know, I’m shit at accents, so I’m not going to try and copy.
“I’m supposed to be meeting a Mr. Winscott, but I’m running a little late due to the traffic.”
“Ah, you must be Samantha.”
“That’s right.”
“Mr. Winscott rang about twenty minutes ago and left a message for you. He got held up at the office so will be about thirty minutes late. In the meantime, if you would like to wait at the bar…”
I smiled as relief flooded through me. I let the nice Italian man lead me over to the bar and then hold a stool for me to climb onto. Given the tight jersey-knit blue dress, climbing onto the stool wasn’t the most elegant thing I’d done and, as I sat, the hem rode up. In fact, the hem rode up just by me walking—I’d had to keep tugging it down all the way from the car! Glancing down, I could see about two inches of naked thigh above my black stockings and I guess I blushed because the guy chuckled.
“Don’t worry about it. We’ve seen far worse in here—and you have fabulous legs.”
I thought he was being a bit forward, but accepted the offer of a white wine spritzer while I waited and, as soon as he turned to deal with another customer, I managed to pull the dress down and at least cover my bare flesh, although the stocking top still showed. Who knows what would have been on show if I’d crossed my legs. I forced myself to relax, and take in the ambiance. The place was up-market from my usual haunts, even more upscale than the nice fish restaurant that Kirk had taken me to on our one and only date. The burger bar Brad had taken me to wasn’t even on the same scale, however charitable about it I was.
The plush wallpaper, proper tablecloths, silver cutlery and leather seats, together with the subdued lighting, was very nice. Then I remembered my dress and the way knit fabric tended to cling to leather. Every time I moved I was liable to be flashing my legs, and the longer the meal went on the worse the potential exposure would be. I was blushing again—I could see that in my reflection in the mirror—but I was saved from any inclination of bolting for the door by the arrival of my date.
Roger walked in and glanced straight at the bar. He grinned as our eyes met and he strode past the tables near the window, straight to me. He leaned in and kissed my cheek. “I’m so sorry I was running late. Last minute hitch in the office. Took me ages to sort it out.”
He was wearing another of his dark, expensive suits, but this time he’d switched the shirt and tie for one of those thin roll-neck sweaters. The look screamed Steve Jobs—only Roger had more hair and no beard.
“That’s okay. I’ll let you in on a secret…”
He cocked an eyebrow at me.
“…I was a bit late myself. Only been here ten minutes.”
“If that extra time was spent getting yourself looking like that, it was worth it. And another hour, besides.”
“That’s corny.”
“True, though. You look ravishing.”
Why is it that every guy trying to get in my pants seems to think he needs to shower me with compliments—like ravishing, spectacular, or amazing? I just wanted to enjoy myself and relax, feel he’s being himself, and then maybe, just maybe, I’d let him into my panties. I don’t wear pants.
The maître’d came back and led us over to a secluded corner table, proffering the menus. Roger waxed lyrical about the ravioli, and I agreed on a five mushroom ravioli starter to match his. He recommended the cannelloni too, but I chose a penne instead—perhaps wanting to establish my independence, but I allowed him to choose the wine to go with it.
The starter was fabulous, wafer-thin pasta around an extravagant mixture of different mushrooms. It was the first time I’d tried Luigi’s and by the end of the first course, I knew it wouldn’t be the last.
“We’ve never eaten there.”
“I know, honey. The place held too many memories for me. Let’s go next week, though. Lay those ghosts to their grave.”
“We’ll see.”
She bit her lip, understanding the implied message. There might not be a next week for us. Even so, she continued with her story.
If anything, I was disappointed with my main, but when Roger offered me a taste of his I knew I should have gone with his selection—pasta heaven on a fork. He kept up a gentle banter throughout the meal, making sure I was entertained. I did find out a lot about him, including the fact he’d married young and divorced after eight years. His wife had remarried and taken his two sons, now teenagers, with her to the East Coast, and he rarely saw them. I could see the pain on his face for a second, then he masked it, so I let it drop.
He ran an investment brokerage in town and gave me his card. Given his thousand-dollar suits, he was clearly successful.
I don’t have a sweet tooth, and he was happy to settle for coffee. At that point the conversation turned more serious.
“Would you like to come back to mine to see my etchings?”
I cracked up. The line was straight out of the college handbook, circa 1960, page one-oh-one. It was obvious he wasn’t serious, as such.
“I don’t think so, thank you.”
His face fell. I guess he’d been thinking that one up for some time. I had, however, reached my own decision.
“I could invite you to see mine?”
“I didn’t know you etched.” His witty comeback was quick as a flash, and I knew I had a dangerous catch on my hands. That thought sent a shiver down my back. That look of disappointment had been pure theatrics.
He continued after a moment’s silence. “I could suggest I took you parking down by the lake, but you don’t travel well as a passenger, and I understand why.”
During the meal he’d asked questions about me, as well as being open abo
ut himself. He’d learned what happened to my parents, and why, as a result, I didn’t let anyone drive me. His sympathy had been genuine and that had been part of my decision-making process.
I laughed and shook my head. “Actually, I live down by the lake.”
“Ah, interesting.” He paused. “So, to answer your earlier question…yes, I’d love to see your etchings.”
I giggled. The conversation was surreal, almost farcical, but it had an undercurrent of promise built into it. I’d met this guy while I had two loads of my boss’s spunk floating around inside me. Now I was planning on getting Roger’s investment—well, that was what he did for a living, right?
Five minutes later we walked out of the restaurant hand in hand. Unfortunately, he was parked in one direction, and I was parked in the other, so I gave him my address and arranged to meet him there. We kissed each other on the cheek and I turned to walk away. After about ten paces I could feel the dress riding up just as it had done earlier, and during the meal. I stopped and glanced back, to see Roger still standing where I left him, his eyes glued to my butt as I walked away—well, my butt and the three inches of naked thigh showing below the hem of the dress. He raised his eyes as he realized I’d stopped and flushed slightly, but licked his lips. I wagged a finger at him, tugged the hem back down and continued walking.
Once back at the car, I set out for home, wanting to make sure I was there first. Just as I turned onto the loop road around the lake, a large, flashy, black BMW M5 raced past me. It had tinted glass, so I couldn’t see who was driving. Lo and behold, when I pulled onto the gravel driveway behind the complex, there was the same car parked behind my condo, with Roger leaning on the front of the car watching my arrival.
