1 comments/ 21231 views/ 0 favorites Vernon Ch. 01 By: BarbraNovac This story is dedicated, respectfully, to Martin Amis, who I doubt would want to be acknowledged here, but is anyway. He wrote the first, and greatest 'Vernon' story, called 'Let me Count the Times' which is a brilliant piece of writing, and one of the very few short stories I am very jealous I didn't write. Hunt it up if you can. Here's to you, Martin! Vernon is a man like any, and every other man, and that's appropriate. To look at him, you would think Vernon was like any other man. He gives off an aurora of 'ordinary'. Mid-height, average-weight, (which to Vernon's mind, was a little over what he'd like), he had a paunch that curved like a muffin top, swelling over the top of his belt. It was noticeable, but not as bad as, say, John in advertising, (Vernon thought), who was Vernon's age, and therefore comparable. As with many men in their late forties, Vernon had the developing bald patch on the very top of his head. This was suitable and to be expected for his age. Vernon looked very appropriate, which Vernon thought was all right. It works to be appropriate when you're an accountant. Vernon worked for a document-scanning firm. He had a small, undecorated office that sat down the other end of the management area from the boardroom and reception. This was also appropriate. After all, nobody wants the money discussed in front of the potential customers. At least, not straight away, and Vernon was very good at social convention. Except for his little secret, convention was how Vernon lived his life. His office had light gray walls that held no mark, a light gray desk that his black computer sat on, and two cream file cabinets. On his desk top stood: 1 stapler 1 hole punch 1 caddy for paper clips 1 caddy for: 1 black pen 1 red pen 1 green pen 1 Paid stamp 1Enterd stamp There used to be a picture of an idyllic ocean scene with the phrase, "It's the choices we make not the chances we take that create our destiny." But Vernon had it removed because he felt it gave the wrong impression, since neither choice nor chance had anything to do with accounting. The remarkable secret Vernon held didn't show on his face or in his features, though the right people seemed to pick it up very easily. Vernon knew, while he wasn't a handsome man, he wasn't an ugly one either. He was a normal looking, ordinary accountant. The kind of man you'd never look at twice. At least, most of us wouldn't look at him twice. Those who could see Vernon's secret looked at him many times, and usually followed him. Vernon's secret was: He was a master seducer, and a perfect lover. Now, many men think they are brilliant with women. Usually this is false bravado, tacked on to give them an ego boost. Either that, or they learn one or two tricks in bed, and think this qualifies them to be a virtual Casanova. Many women are well aware that if a man boasts about his prowess in bed, she is to smile and pretend to look impressed (men are such fragile creatures, one must always care for their flailing egos) and either politely refuse (citing marriage, religion or an STD) or give him the chance to show her his stuff. Either option usually ends up with the same result; the woman feeling alone and neglected in a big bed – man or no man. But Vernon wasn't one of these men. His sexual prowess was in his essence, and, as a result, women approached him. It was almost as if they smelled him. Vernon preferred not to pursue women. Number one, he didn't have too; and number two he rarely had enough time in the day to satisfy the women making their demands on him as it was. He felt it was rather crass to approach a woman. He felt sure, she would come to you, if your pheromones appealed to her, and that was the important thing. And Vernon's pheromones seemed to appeal to many women. This is how a typical day played itself out in Vernon's life. He woke at about seven, to a special kind of alarm, that was a woman's voice seductively telling him to wake up. Vernon lived alone (it had never occurred to him to become exclusive to one woman, and he rarely experienced loneliness) and so had no one in his bed to take care of his morning boner. Now the woman's voice, was not a clever alarm clock, it was his neighbor, Jane, who made sure her work out was complete by seven, mostly so that she could take care of Vernon's boner for him. She was a very sweet woman, thirty-five years old, and looking to start a family with her husband who she loved very much. However, her husband was always off at work by seven n the morning, and Jane made herself available to help Vernon with his morning stiffy. She promised him and herself she'd settle down as soon as she had children, and Vernon had no reason to doubt her. But for Jane, it seemed logical, that while her body was still so nice and firm, (and soon it would be ruined with children) she should take advantage of what it could still get her. And it got her Vernon. For exactly twenty-five minutes, at seven am, every day. Jane climbed out, onto her terrace, and slung her leg over the low wall that separated the two balconies. She did this every morning, in order to not be detected by anyone in the hall. Vernon always thought she'd have a better chance of being seen, and by more people, scaling the outside of a building. Wearing nothing but her thin robe each morning, the wind gusting up under it, and her pretty slit and bare ass exposed would surely cause people to look up. However, Jane insisted that this way she wouldn't be caught and that was the most important thing. So Vernon could wait in bed, till the delicious Jane, popped into his room to give him his wake up call at seven. If he didn't open his eyes (as sometimes he deliberately didn't) a soft breast with a very hard nipple would play at the corners of his mouth. A hot tongue would nuzzle and breathe into his ear, and a warm damp hand would slide under the sheets to find his boner. Vernon liked to fake sleeping through this, so that Jane was forced to wake him. She would sit on the bed next to him, and lounge her naked body back so that her breasts sat level with his face. Then she would rub those double d's against his face, almost as if she were enticing a little babe to wake up and take what's being offered. "Wake up Vernon dear. Time for me to milk you darling." Vernon opened his mouth to receive the hard nipple into it, and sucked. He fixed a seal, not too tight, but hard enough to be felt properly, about the light pink edge of her nipple, so that the entire hard skin was in his hot mouth. Then he'd flick his tongue across the tip of it, using its growing hardness as an indicator he was working her properly. The suction around her nipple, kept insistent but not too strong, balanced with the flick of his tongue, was only over when he heard her light gasp. Then he would release her breast, open his eyes, and say: "Next please." Jane, leaning over Vernon, so that her golden-brown hair hung feather-like over his face, would stretch over his torso, and place the other nipple against his eager lips. Vernon then performed the exact same function on her other cherry, till both were erect, and Jane panted with noticeable frequency. About two breaths for every normal inhalation. Jane would twist over the top of Vernon, so that her beautiful silky hair trailed down his chin stubble. She maneuvered herself, slithering further down his body. She let her hair trail down his skin, because, Vernon suspected, she knew it gave him pleasure. She used her hair in this way, as she snaked down his chest and belly, gliding and sliding her body, still hot and supple from its morning workout, till she was face to face with Vernon's stiff dick, and her aerobicized ass was pointed directly at his face. Jane would always spread her legs so that her puffy pussy lips hovered just above Vernon's nose, pouting and expectant. Jane didn't want cunnilingus from Vernon, which Vernon would be happy to provide. Instead she wanted Vernon's fingers in her. He lay in the position he'd woken in, with the two delicious curves of her ass bobbing above him. He could see the soft downy hair detail in her crack, and smell the combination of pleasant, healthy woman perspiration, musky ass-scent first thing in the morning, and the strong sea spray smell of female arousal. This was a smell Vernon was very used to. Soon Vernon felt the hot lips work his tool. It felt very good; Jane was excellent at giving head. She held the base of his shaft with one hand, and used her tongue to peel back his foreskin, relishing in any of the sticky secretions clinging to the underside of his foreskin. She circled the head with her tongue, and used her hand to hold the receding skin down, so that his pulsing hot head was exposed to her fully. As Jane did this, Vernon would insert his pointer finger into Jane's fleshy pussy, positioning it to her g-spot. His finger laid feather light on that little nipply flesh inside her channel, as he massaged and rotated his finger to get her going. Vernon's indicator she was ready for what she wanted, came when she lowered her whole head onto his dick, taking the shaft full toward the back of her throat, and using her tongue to slide around his balls at the base. Vernon always thought this was a very sexy moment, and had to concentrate not to explode in the lovely woman's mouth at that point. With deep breaths, Vernon focussed on the pulsing pussy, noting that the wetness now ran down his hand. Jane didn't know, but Vernon always tasted it at this point. The fresh clear fluid was hard to resist and it reminded Vernon that this woman needed a little something more, and he can't pour his fuck into her throat just yet. Vernon then removed his finger from Jane's soaking cunt, and inserted it, gently, insistently, without hesitation, into her tight ass. Jane lifted her face off Vernon's cock, and called out, "Fuck yeah baby, fuck that ass hole" which Vernon also found very exciting. It was remarkable, the things women say when aroused, that you would never expect from them at other times. Times like, say, when they're at work. These thoughts helped distract Vernon from the boiling sperm rising in his balls. However, he held his hand still, marveling at the beautiful hard globes pounding themselves back hard onto his finger. At this point, Vernon lifted his other hand, and using the mirror digit, inserted it into her streaming cunt, where the finger had sat previously. Vernon would find that little nipple-like circle of skin again, and very softly rotate the finger against it, using all that running lubrication to stimulate the G-spot to that very satisfying result. "Shit! Fuck! I feel so good. Fuck those holes baby, while I gobble on your huge dick." While thrusting back hard on his fingers, Jane would lean down, and opening her mouth wide, would take all of Vernon's cock to the root, so that he felt the back of her throat massaging his slippery head. Almost as if the nasty words had heated up her mouth, the warmth and intensity of her spongy inner cheeks massaged the outer skin of his dick as she worked it further and further down. When she had the shaft directly down her throat, her hot tongue came out to slither on his balls again. Vernon pressed just a little harder on the vag hand, and pushed down with the ass hand, and Jane bore down, squirting out a sharp tangy liquid into Vernon's waiting, open mouth. Of all the women Vernon fucked in his day, Jane was the only one who ejaculated every single day, and Vernon found this very exciting. Vernon always came into Jane's throat at this point. Hot, heavy globs of cum built up through a long nights sleep. Vernon woke this way every day, and that suited him because it was a part of his routine. Jane would eventually perform only for her husband, and leave Vernon alone, and that was appropriate. Vernon enjoyed her day by day, knowing the day would come when Jane wasn't in his bed. Jane was always done by seven – twenty five, which suited Vernon well. She didn't stay and they rarely talked. Jane was very warm, and Vernon knew they were friends, but they didn't have very much to talk about, once their cum was lodged in each other mouths, so Jane would say a hasty goodbye, mutter a promise to see him In the morning, and make her way over the balcony, with her silk robe ballooning up in the early morning wind. Vernon would then take exactly thirty-five minutes to shower and eat some breakfast before he existed his apartment, at precisely eight am. But that was only the start of a typical Vernon day. Vernon Ch. 02 On his way to the office, Vernon would stop by the newspaper stand to visit with Rosie. Rosie, a plump British woman, always asked Vernon how he was keepin' with an accent that made Vernon think she really meant it. She came across, at least to Vernon, as very appropriate for her job. She stood behind, or beside her newspaper stand, in her floral shift dresses that she always wore, warmly asking folk about their day, and suggesting what paper or magazine they may enjoy. Rosie always kept business and accounting magazines aside for Vernon, because (Vernon suspected) she felt he was rather special. Vernon liked to have special visits with Rosie, but preferred this at the end of his day. At eight o' five am, he had only just ejaculated down Jane's throat less than an hour before, and even Vernon needed a little more time to gather his ... thoughts. Paper in hand, Vernon blended into the crowd, his fawn trench coat, buttoned and buckled carefully over his navy suit, and red tie. Sometimes he wore a cap (hound's-tooth), if it were cold, and a fawn colour scarf. However, even in the heat of summer, Vernon wore his trench outside. He just didn't trust the train with his well dry-cleaned suits. Vernon bustled, anonymous in the crowd, to the train. The crowds at eight fifteen (exactly) were heavy. Women and men of many ages clustered together like bunches of irrevocably entwined cherries, jostling their way on to the trains off the platform, swaying precariously as each body depended on those around it for support. It was the same every day. The shoving crowds vied for room on each and every overcrowded, hot sweaty train. And very often, opportunities presented themselves to Vernon. On this particular day, he stood on the hot underground platform, inhaling the coal smelling air, keeping his eye on the clock that hung over the platform that informed him he was on schedule. Usually, under these circumstances, Vernon could feel a woman breasts pressing into his back, or feel an ass press in against his own. Vernon always ignored these approaches, assuming they were part of the normal hustle of the busy crowd trying to get to work. It simply never occurred to Vernon that not all men had these experiences. He assumed subtlety and social convention meant polite people didn't discuss it, and for Vernon, this was appropriate. The rough tin foil train arrived, and its rumbling, quaking doors opened, spilling a wave of people out of it and into the waiting crowd. Somehow, against all odds, people made room for the folk alighting. However, tension remained in the air, as each person braced themselves for the forward thrust, as the last of the exists were complete and the new travellers had a chance to hop on the train. As soon as the final person got off, the flood pressed forward, and Vernon felt swept, just like every other morning, in the tidal wave of commuters, onto the train, filing it to standing room only. Vernon found himself, on this day, thrust down a set of small stairs to a heavily packed lower half of the carriage. As soon as he hit the bottom of the stairs, he belted into a large woman, her breast flesh giving under the pressure of his hand that clutched his brief case to his chest. He looked up in horror at her eyes, to find her staring at him with surprise, the faintest hint of a smile about her lips. As Vernon felt her nipple harden, he pulled away, as best he could, and turned to face the stairs. However, a man in a darker blue suit stood on the bottom step, and his lower back, pressed firmly into Vernon's face prevented any chance of Vernon moving up the stairs. Wriggling to his left, Vernon peered around the man to see that bodies were completely filling and blocking the stairs, providing no where to move beyond where he stood. Behind him, the fleshy, wheezing woman inched her way forward to lean into his back, and in front the immovable rigidity of the man's back wedged Vernon into a kind of rock and hard place. As soon as the train began to move, it's first lurch propelled Vernon to his left, and the intensity of the squeeze he was in, slid him out from his hard place and almost into the lap of an angry woman who sat to his left, trying to read her paper in the cramped space. So as not to fall on to her again, Vernon reached past the man in front, while staying where he was, and grasped a little ways up the side rail on the steps, providing him with some clinging stability as the train rocketed toward his destination. Vernon had a twenty-minute trip in this position. He couldn't actually see his hand. He couldn't see past the man's back, but he wasn't going to let go of that rail for anything in the world. Vernon looked out the window. The black tunnel outside, gave the window the characteristics of a mirror. Vernon looked at everyone cramped into the train and thought, that this was just the way things were. Even though it was cramped and difficult, it was pleasant to know they were all in this together. And then, Vernon felt something else rather pleasant. His hand, the one on the rail, had soft, warm skin against it. At first, it felt like velvet, as though it were someone's velvet trousers. However, soon Vernon recognised it as human flesh. 'Probably', he deduced from the softness, 'female flesh'. Vernon had no way of looking around the man in front, and even if he could, he wouldn't be able to see up into the sea of people to identify who was rubbing her bare leg against his hand, but Vernon chose to ignore it anyway. It was probably just with the business of the train. Soon they arrived at a stop. The doors opened, and Vernon and those around him strained to see if people would get on. No one did, and soon there were more people trying to squeeze into the already crowded space of the carriage. Groans and moans slipped easily from people's mouths now. 'There must have been an accident' Vernon thought. 'Or some cancellation with another train.' As soon as the doors closed, Vernon felt the flesh hit against his hand again, bumping and rolling about with the movement of the train. When the train lurched forward, Vernon had the distinct feeling that the skin was back to stay. Only this time, Vernon could tell, his hands were against an inner thigh. Vernon clutched the handrail for support, so only the back of his hand could be in contact with the inside of the bare leg. Vernon, not knowing whom he was with, decided that this was all right, and slipped his fingers off the rail, leaving only his thumb to clutch over the rail for support. It wasn't enough; But Vernon used his brief case hand to push against the side of the seat with the reading woman, so that he could support himself that way also. Once his hand was freer, Vernon distinctly felt the leg move, so that his fingers were able to curl around the flesh. Now that Vernon stood there, braced against the seat, he was able to focus on what this particular woman may need. Thinking he will take a chance, he used the rattle of the train to his advantage. Every time the train jostled or bounced, Vernon would bump his hand and edge it a little higher. The leg seemed bent toward the rail, so that his fingertips could easily caress the silky bare skin. With every jostle and bump on the train, Vernon allowed his fingers to slip higher and higher up this anonymous thigh. Soon the train stopped at the next stop. More people got on. But no one got off. As the people fought for a place on the overcrowded train, Vernon felt the thigh move closer it to his hand, and slip a little lower, so that Vernon could distinctly feel with his fingers, the place on her thigh were the two thighs met. Vernon, staring out of the windows on to the platform of the train, knew that his fingers were almost at the woman's pussy. With a severe jolt, the train started again. Vernon, knowing he had only one more stop and the next was his, took advantage of the jolt, and edged his fingers up until he could feel the thin material of her panties. The heat emanating from her cunt was incredible. The arousal of this mystery woman intensified as Vernon moved his hand slowly up her complying legs. Did she know who tickled her cunny, or not? Was she aware that Vernon couldn't see her? None of this mattered to Vernon, though he did notice that he had a raging hard on, and his crotch was almost directly pointed at the woman trying to read her paper. However, Vernon wasn't about to stop. He could deal with his hard on later, and he wasn't going to cum in his pants. That wasn't the way Vernon was. Instead, he spread his fingers that climbed up the inner thigh, and brushed them against the cloth covering the woman's pussy. Using the jolt and the bustle of the train, Vernon allowed his fingers to float around the material covering her private, secret place. The carriage was silent except for the noise of the train as it sped its way through the tunnel toward Vernon's work. Soon the train slowed down and came to a stop. Vernon realised he had only one more stop, he had to vacate the train. If people got ion and off at this stop Vernon didn't know. He kept rotating his hands around the cloth covering that mound. He could feel wetness starting to seep through smearing deliciously over his fingers. As soon as the doors slammed shut, and the train started its final part of Vernon's journey with a jolt, Vernon took the opportunity to let go of the rail, choosing instead to brace himself fully against the seat with the women reading. She looked up with distaste at Vernon again, and Vernon pretended not to notice. His fingers had slid under the elastic that clung to the flesh between pussy lip and thigh. Twisting his hand quite painfully, Vernon lengthened out his middle and longest finger, up and into the warm willing folds of the anonymous woman's pussy. Straining to hear something, even a pant, Vernon could still only hear the rattle of the train, and a young woman talking with her friend at the other end of the carriage. As usual, Vernon observed, the morning train was filled to bursting with people trying to avoid one another. Vernon reached with hand, and twisting in a very rough way, managed to softly spin the finger that was deep in the hot wet cunt. Vernon searched for a g-spot with the lurching and wrestling of the train, and allowed his thumb to rise under the panties, and massage against her clit. She was so wet, that the lubricant had left slimy snail trails all over Vernon's hand, and he could feel it pooling in palm. It didn't matter to Vernon. He kept massaging and massaging until he felt the walls of the tunnel clutch and pull on his finger, as if they were trying to suck it right off his hand. As soon as she'd come, Vernon felt it polite to remove his hand as fast as possible. Fearing the exposure because of the smell, Vernon put it back on the rail, anxiously waiting for the train to meet its final destination. His dick was as hard as iron, but Vernon would have to take care of that when he reached work. Almost right away, Vernon arrived at his stop. Commuters poured out at this station, and Vernon suddenly felt the pressure give way as the man in front stepped up the stairs, and made his way out of the carriage with the tsunami of commuters. By the time Vernon had made it to the stairs himself, the carriage in front of him had emptied, taking with it the woman who'd cum in Vernon's hand. Discreetly, as soon as Vernon alighted, he found a bubbler and washed his hands under the water, taking care to avoid the spout where someone may put their mouth. He dampened his handkerchief, and wiped his hand clean. Then Vernon pulled his trench straight, grasped his briefcase firmly, headed up the stairs, out of the train tunnel, and made his way to work.