0 comments/ 17320 views/ 1 favorites DotCom Ch. 01 By: mannytheman I don't know how I got into this. Well, OK, I know how. I just don't know why. Yeah, I know why, too. It's just the way I am. I guess now's the time to say I couldn't help it, but that wouldn't be true, either. I mean, I don't just strip off my clothes and show my body to anybody. Not that I don't like to; I've been flashing since I was twelve. By now, I guess you could say I'm addicted to it. But I've got my standards. It's got to be the right place, and the right time, and above all the right guy. And that's what surprises me about this whole thing. I never dreamed I'd be showing it to all the world. It started like this... I slammed the file drawer shut, cursing my boss under my breath. The big ass-hole had waltzed out of his office at lunch-time and thrown a pile of papers on my desk. "See if you can find someplace for these, would you, Laura?" I knew just the place for them, but I smiled sweetly and said I'd get right on it. I also knew exactly what else he'd love me to get right on. I'd been listening to his macho bull-shit and his endless innuendoes since the day I started working for him. At first it was kind of fun, and I admit I flirted a little with him. But he seemed to think the way to impress me and get into my pants was to brag about all the big deals he had going and how he was going right to the top. By the time he got on to how his wife didn't understand him and couldn't or wouldn't do the things he wanted her to, I was on her side, cheering her on. Anyway. I got all the stuff filed and took the elevator down to the lobby to get some lunch. The cafe there makes some really tasty things, befitting a classy building like ours, and there was a line at the counter. I knew what I wanted long before it was my turn. The chicken-pesto salad on a soft white roll was to die for. Still, when I got up to the counter, I put my finger to my lips and looked everything over, like I was undecided. The sandwich guy just stood there and watched me, as if he had all day and there wasn't a long row of people waiting behind me. He was a cute Latino, maybe twenty. We'd gone through this charade every work-day since he'd started working there a couple of weeks ago. I'd rub my lip and glance back and forth over the menu, flicking a look at him every so often. I'd shrug and wriggle, as if making up my mind, and he'd stare until I'd chosen, and then put my sandwich together and hand it to me with a big smile. Today was no different. I paid and turned away, fluttering my eyes at him over my shoulder. All the tables around the sandwich stand were taken. Through the forty-foot tall glass of the lobby I saw the sun shining brightly and people sitting around the plaza outside. I decided to join them. In the middle of the plaza stood a fountain surrounded by a wide, shallow pool and a low retaining wall. I walked over and sat on the wall, letting my short skirt ride up under me. When I crossed my legs, a long stretch of thigh was exposed, almost to my waist. I twitched my foot and let my shoe dangle from my toes. I guess I should explain that whole right guy, right place, right time thing. That's personal. One on one. It's why I'd never flash my boss in the office. Wrong guy, wrong everything. And why the sandwich-guy only got a sexy smile and batted eye-lashes. Oh, yeah, and a glimpse of my legs as I spun away from the counter and my skirt flared up. If he was even watching. But on a wider stage, like here on the plaza outside my building, full of people I didn't know, I liked the idea that everyone was looking at me. I knew it wasn't necessarily true. That secretary sitting ten feet away from me on the wall was definitely not looking. When I'd crossed my legs her eyes had popped, but ever since she'd been studying her sandwich like it was the Rosetta stone. OK by me. I wasn't putting on my little show for her, though I had nothing against women watching. That guy on the bench across the plaza, though, leaning his elbows on his knees, flicking ashes from a cigarette he hadn't taken a drag from since I'd sat down. Young guy, nice suit. Up and coming. I kicked my toes again, flopping my shoe. I saw his eyes turn up toward me under his brows. I uncrossed my legs, letting them slip briefly open, and re-crossed them. The guy's head jerked up, but he pulled it right back down. I could see his shoulders ball up as he tried to hold his head down and still watch me. I knew I had him, and I made a show of eating my sandwich, licking my lips and occasionally running a finger over my mouth. I let my glance wander over the rest of the plaza. There were plenty of men there, and most of them seemed to have noticed me. I laid my hands behind me on the edge of the wall and leaned my head back, facing the sun. My breasts pushed out against my thin, loose top, and I felt my nipples hardening. I didn't have to open my eyes and look around to see who was watching. They all were. A shadow fell over me, interrupting my reverie, and I knew without opening my eyes that a man was sitting next to me. This seemed to be an unavoidable draw-back to my flashing: some guys took it personally, apparently, and thought it was all for them. I pulled myself upright and prepared my iciest glare. Surprise. He was actually kind of cute. No. Really cute. Short dark hair, an ingratiating grin, and as far as I could see, under his designer jeans and T-shirt, a nice tight body. So I didn't blow him off. As a matter of fact, I liked the way he looked at me, and I may have slipped back onto my hands and given him a good look at my tits. I might even have crossed my legs so that the thigh closest to him was on top and bare up to the hem of my skirt. Then I remembered my rules and sat up and tugged my skirt down. He was smiling at me when I met his eyes. Not a bold, brash, coming-on sort of smile. Not a shy smile, either. Just friendly. "I couldn't help noticing you here." Notice me? After all I'd done to shield myself from prying eyes. I batted my eyes bashfully at him. He had the sexiest dimples when he grinned. "Listen. I know you must have guys hitting on you all the time. I would, too." He blushed, which was even sexier than his dimples. "But I've got an interesting proposition for you." Oh, you, too. I'd had tons of interesting propositions. The last one from my boss, not an hour ago. When I'd declined, he'd dumped all that paper-work on me. Remembering that got me pissed off, and my new suitor must have seen it. "OK. Maybe now's not the time, or maybe you're not the one." Not the one? Moi? Now he had my interest again. I softened my look and flashed my baby-blues at him. "Sorry. It's just my boss. You know. Jerk. Gets to me, even when I know I shouldn't let it." "That's cool. I understand." His eyes deepened. What color were they, I found myself wondering. Grey with a hint of blue? Blue with grey high-lights? He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a slightly crumpled card. "I'm Marc. With a C." He laid the card between us on the wall and stood up. "If you're in the mood for something different, give me a call. My number's right there." Then he stood up and walked away. That was something new. Mostly they just kept trying and trying until they could see the indifference in my eyes. I picked up the card. Marc Walters. Marc with a C. I looked up and saw him disappearing into the distance. "I'm Laura," I whispered, then turned back to his card. UCBABES.COM it read in bold print under his name. University of California? Connecticut? Then I got it. You see babes. Clever. I giggled, delighted I'd caught the joke. At the bottom of the card was a telephone number. I got up and threw the wrapper from my sandwich into a trash can. I held the card in the palm of my hand and went in and punched the elevator button. I rode upstairs alone, thinking about Marc and reading his card over and over. Maybe I'd just call him. Whoa. No way. I couldn't. As cute as he was, he'd probably laid these cards on half the girls in town. With his smiles and his dimples. And what did he mean, something different. OK. Maybe I was in the mood for something different. God knows this job was driving me crazy. So maybe I'd call him. No. Forget it. He'd come crashing into my world and violated my first principle of flashing. Nothing personal. I had a gorgeous body (the mirror doesn't lie) and I loved flaunting it. I loved flaunting it publicly. But no contact with viewers. I didn't need their stories or their greedy hands. Just their looks. Their eyes. At a distance. No Marc with his sexy dimples. No cards with riddles. He could call me if he was so interested. Of course, he didn't know my name, much less my phone number. Ohmigod. I'm such a ditz. I can't believe I'm going on like this when all I wanted to do was tell you my story. So when I got home I called him. Of course you know that, or else you wouldn't be reading this. "Uh. Hello. Marc? It's me. Laura." Nothing. Nada. Zilch. "You know. From the fountain? This afternoon? You gave me your card." "Oh, yeah. The fountain. Laura. Is that your name? Hey, I'm glad you called." There was more silence on the line. "Um, you said something. If I was interested in something different." "Well, are you? Interested. Because I'm certain I can offer you something different. When I saw you I was sure you were the one." "Me? The one?" This was more like it. I didn't know what he was talking about, but I definitely wanted to be the one. "Absolutely. Where are you now?" "Home," told him. "Where's home?" I wasn't sure I should tell him. Oh, what the hell. I really was interested in something different. And he had that great smile. And those dimples. I gave him my address. "Hey. You're not even that far from here. Can you come over now? 114 Canal Street. You know where that is?" I knew pretty much where it was. He was right. It wasn't far from where I lived. Still, I hesitated. This could turn out to be something creepy. But somehow I trusted him. And anyway, if he was an axe murderer or something, he already had my address. "OK. Sure. I can be there in, what, fifteen minutes." "Great. See you soon." 114 Canal turned out to be a big old converted warehouse down by the docks. M Walters was the top bell. I rang it and the door clicked open. The stairs were shallow and precipitous, and I was careful to keep my balance in the heels I still had on from work. When I got to the top, the door was open and Marc was smiling out at me. Same sexy dimples, same tight bod in his T-shirt. Only now he was wearing shorts. "Laura. Come on in." I slipped between Marc and the door-frame, and my breasts brushed lightly against his chest. I looked at him, half expecting a leer, but he seemed not to have noticed. He pushed the door shut behind me and took my arm and led me to a comfortable-looking leather couch. "Glass of wine? I have some cooling in the fridge." "Sure. Whatever you're drinking." I looked around me. Marc's apartment took up the whole top floor of the building and was one big room. Over where he was opening the refrigerator there was a compact kitchen. Behind where I sat was an expanse of empty floor and in a far corner a bed. Big windows showed the sky-line of the city. Not a bad place to seduce a girl, I thought, and wondered if that was what he'd got me up here for. Marc handed me a glass and sat down next to me on the couch. I didn't mind being seduced, not at all by a guy as cute as him, and I sipped my wine and leaned back and let it come. "So you kept my card." he said. Not the line I'd been expecting, but whatever. "Yep. Kept it, read it, got the joke. Even saw your number at the bottom. And here I am." I crossed my legs. Right time, right place, and right guy. Marc's eyes were like lasers streaming over my thigh. "The joke?" he asked. "Yeah. You know. UCBABES. I got it." Marc tore his eyes from my legs and looked into mine. "So. You got it. I knew you were a bright girl. So you know what I do here, and why I wanted you." I had no idea what he did here, but I was pretty sure why he wanted me. He took the glass from my hand and set it on the table beside his. I don't know if he led me or I led him, but we ended up in the corner of the room where the bed was. I sat on the edge of the bed. A big, square bed, king-size. Fresh sheets, I noticed. Nice. I like it when a guy makes that little extra effort. I was tugging at the top button of my blouse when Marc pulled a closet door open and got out a big lamp on a sort of tripod. Then another one, and what looked like an umbrella, but silver. He plugged the lamps in and a brilliant white light washed over the bed. The silver umbrella caught the light and reflected it back at me. Then Marc grabbed a big black camera from the closet and pointed it at me, fiddling with the lens. Oh. Oho. How could I have been so dumb. UCBABES. No, not just UCBABES. UCBABES.COM. It was a web-site. You see babes. And he thought I was going to be one of the babes. I was livid, if that means what I think it does. Anyway, I was really pissed off. Marc had tricked me into this. All his dimples and smiles were just lures to get me to take off my clothes and show myself to his camera, and then to the world. To who knows how many men, sitting at their computers and getting off to my pictures. Ah. Aha. Marc was miles ahead of me. I don't know how he'd figured me out, but he definitely had. Suddenly I wasn't angry with him any more. I settled back on the bed and let my skirt ride up over my thighs. Marc's camera was clicking almost constantly. I looked into the lens and pouted my lips. "Oh, yeah. That's it," Marc said. "I knew you'd be good." "Only good?" I popped another few buttons and thrust my chest out at the camera. "No. You're perfect. You're the one, Laura." That's what I wanted to hear. Marc had a few suggestions as I began to peel off my clothes, but as I got into it, he grew silent. Then, for a long time, the only sound was the click of the camera. I stripped each bit of clothing away slowly and posed in every position I could think of. On my knees, looking at the camera over my shoulder. On my back, my arms stretched over my head and my toes pointed at the ceiling. Catching my long dark hair up and arching my back, pushing my boobs out. On my side. On my stomach. Sitting. Standing. Kneeling. Sometimes a smile, sometimes a serious look. Sometimes just goofy. Whatever came to me. Maybe it was the lights, or maybe it was all my exertions, but a sheen of sweat popped out all over me. I rubbed my hands through the slickness on my chest and stomach. That wasn't all that was wet, I realized as my hands slid over me. I flopped onto my back and let my fingers glide over my thighs. My feet dug into the bed and my hips rose. Then the bright lights went out and I opened my eyes to see Marc bent at the floor, pulling the plugs from the outlet. "I can't keep these lights on forever. They overheat, and I'm not too sure about the wiring here. But Laura, you were amazing." I sat up and felt my body begin to relax. "Really? You think so? I could have gone on, you know." Marc grinned at me and his dimples deepened. God, he was cute. "Yeah. I could tell." I blushed. Marc reached out and grabbed my hand. "Come on. Let's see what we got." He led me back over to the living area and slid into a swivel chair in front of a desk with a computer on it. He touched the keyboard and the computer sprang to life. "Pull up a chair," he told me. "In a minute. You want some wine?" I picked up our glasses and walked to the fridge. "Sure. Great." I filled the glasses and came back to him. He was bent over, plugging a wire from the camera into the computer. His T-shirt pulled tight over his broad back, and I could see his triceps flexing. "Oh, god," I thought. "Cute, and dimples, and all those muscles, too." Marc straightened up and looked at me over his shoulder. "Ready?" All of a sudden, I didn't know if I was. Flashing's one thing. I loved it for the feeling it gave me. The power over all those guys watching. But it was fleeting. Momentary. I could walk away from it whenever I wanted. Pictures were something else. Lasting. Permanent. I handed Marc his glass and took a deep slug out of mine. "OK. If you are." He clicked through some icons, and then a bunch of little pictures filled the screen. He moved the mouse, and an arrow pointed at the image on the top left. Another click, and a photo of me washed over the monitor. My hands were at the top button of my blouse, and a look of uncertainty was clear on my face. "OK," Marc said. "That's just the first one. Let's see some more." Marc kept clicking the mouse, and as picture after picture of me popped up onto the screen, I could see myself beginning to relax and get into it. "Jesus, Laura. These are fantastic. They can go right on the web-site.' "You think so? They look pretty good to me, too. Oh, that one there." I didn't know if it was Marc's talent as a photographer or mine as a model, but the pictures were beautiful. Stunning. I leaned over him, pointing out shots I thought were particularly good. I felt my hair brush him and smelled his scent. Man-scent. A little sweat, clean and sweet. A latent dash of perfume. Armani? All my fantasies were coming together at this moment. I'd be on the net, showing myself not to ten men, or twenty. Who knows how many men would look at me. Thousands, I guessed. They'd do whatever they had to do, flicking back and forth over at my pictures with one hand. And I knew just what it was they'd have to do with the other hand. My knees weakened. This was fantasy squared, cubed, whatever came next. Years of sitting outside at the fountain couldn't touch this. And then there was the personal side of all this. My standards. You remember. Right time, right place, right guy. My hands slipped down over Marc's chest. God, he had more muscles on his front than I had on my whole body. He was still staring at the computer screen, bringing up shot after shot of me getting out of my clothes and showing myself to the camera. I shuddered as I realized I was still naked. I pushed my hands down over Marc's torso and snuggled into his neck. "Like what you see?" I asked him. "Are you kidding? Just look at this. You're a natural. I knew it the moment I saw you." His eyes were glued to the screen. I backed away and sat on the couch. "Hey, Marc." He spun his chair to look at me. "Ever see anything like this on your computer?" My fingers flicked over my skin. I hadn't realized how close I'd been to coming while Marc took his pictures, but now I was right there. Right on the edge. "Well, yes, as a matter of fact I have. But pictures are one thing, and you, on the other hand..." He didn't finish his sentence. Instead, he stood up and pulled his T-shirt over his head and un-buttoned his shorts. Oh, my goodness. What a body. All muscles. Not gross body-builder muscles. Just tight and lean. And tan. All over tan. Not even a little white Speedo-patch. I was wondering where he sun-bathed to get a tan like that when my orgasm hit me. My first orgasm. I shut my eyes and rode it out, taking my time as electric shocks rippled over me. No rush. I knew there'd be more. When I could, I opened my eyes. Marc was watching me, his hand stroking slowly over his cock. God, his cock. I won't tell you some porn-story nonsense, where the guy's dick always seems it should be part of a horse or something. But Marc's was big. Big, and thick. And way hard. I felt my pussy gushing and gaping as I looked at him. His hand was wrapped loosely around him. When it slid down to the base, the head poked out at me. He wasn't actually tan all over. His dick was more like red. Bright, shiny red. Red turning to deep purple. Then when his hand slid back up to the head of his cock, I could see a few inches of shaft below it, and his balls. I was expecting them to be as big as his cock, and maybe they were. But just now, they were pulled up tight against the base of his prick. DotCom Ch. 01 Marc walked toward me, his eyes traveling over my body. I knew that he wanted more than anything in the world to stick that big, throbbing, jerking thing into me. My pussy squished and got even wetter. I wanted it, too. Maybe even more than he did. But I held my right hand up palm forward while my left hand toyed at my clit. "No. Go sit down. I want you to watch me. I want to watch you." Marc groaned but backed up to his chair and sat. He was picking up the tempo now, his hand flashing over his erection. I spread my legs as far as they'd open and stroked the fingers of both hands over and through my swollen lips. My calves and thighs tightened and loosened, jouncing my butt on the couch. Marc's feet were jammed hard against the floor, lifting his hips and thrusting his cock up through his grip. Oh, god. Oh, shit. Oh, sweet jesus. This was it. Right guy, right place, right time. It was flashing heaven. I couldn't show him any more than this. And he couldn't show me any more than he was now. Well, maybe one thing. Marc's face was red behind his tan, and I could tell he was fighting to keep his eyes from screwing shut. I willed him to keep watching me. My hips' rhythmic motion turned into a long, deep shudder. My hands clamped against my pussy, and held me tight as I came. My orgasm rocked me. Mercilessly. Delightfully. Seemingly endlessly. All the tension flowed out of my legs and I slid off the couch. When my butt hit the floor I looked over at Marc. He lunged up into his fist. A deep, primitive cry escaped from his throat, and a thread, no, a rope of white fluid shot out of his prick. Then another. And another. And another. The drops were so thick that they spattered when they hit the floor. I stretched a leg out, and hot lava landed on my naked toes. Maybe I was coming again, or maybe I'd never stopped coming. Whatever. With each blast from Marc's cock, a tsunami ripped through me. I finally let my eyes fall shut and slumped on the floor. Visions of what we'd just done danced across my eye-lids. With a last effort I forced my eyes back open. Marc was gone into another world, lying back in his chair with his fingers idling over his softening dick. Well, he'd promised me something different. And he'd delivered. How he'd known to shoe-horn it into my fantasy was a mystery, but I didn't care. I could think about that tomorrow. DotCom Ch. 02 When I woke up in the morning and remembered what I'd done last night, it took me a few minutes before I could sort everything out. I'd been in, like a trance or something driving home, and I'd undressed and fallen into my bed and immediately into a deep sleep. This morning, lying back on my pillows, knowing I had to get up and go to work, I took the time to try to get it all straight in my mind. I liked Marc. Of course I did. What was not to like? He was as cute as any guy I'd met recently, or maybe forever. And I was sure he liked me. But wait a minute. He'd come on to me at the plaza outside my office, all smooth and sexy and smiling and all dimples and you're the one. How many women had he tried that on? And how many had looked at him and listened to him, just like me, and gone to his place and let him take their pictures? I mean, what was so different about me? Well, the obvious. I'm adorable. Figuring that all out was a relief. I kicked off the sheet and hopped up and stood in front of the standing full-length mirror in my bedroom. Even fresh out of bed, I looked gorgeous. Or especially fresh out of bed. I thought my slightly puffy, half-open eyes and tousled near-black hair made me look extra desirable. In a sexy, just out of bed sort of way. I twisted before the mirror and let my eyes glide over my body. My pale skin contrasted with my dark hair. At times I'd wished it was blonde, but wasn't there something about dumb blondes? Whatever. I lifted my arms over my head, and my boobs tightened against my chest. Even so, they stood out like grapefruit halves, and my nipples capped them like ripe raspberries. Ripe and ready to eat. Sometimes I can be so silly. I loved looking at myself like this. Not for the first time, I wished I could be two people at once. One to admire my perfection and one to, what do I want to say? One to bask in the adoration. I turned to get a look at my buns. Yep. Tight and round as ever. And my legs. I was trying to decide what my best feature was when I caught a glimpse of the clock. Oh, shit, I was going to be late. I showered and got dressed as fast as I could, but even when you're in a hurry, it takes a while. I knew I'd never get to work on time. I was dashing down the stairs to the door of my building when I suddenly thought, "Fuck it. Fuck being late, and my tight-ass boss, and ...Oh, just fuck it all." I could be late for once. Instead of flitting around trying to remember where I'd parked my car or frantically looking for a taxi, I decided to walk. It was another beautiful sunny day, and I sauntered through the city streets, loving my morning of freedom. And loving all the glances I got from the men along the way. I may have rushed to get ready, but I'd put a lot of care into it. I always do. My hair shone, my skin gleamed, I was shaved as smooth as a marble all over. My make-up was perfect. My top showed just enough, and my skirt danced over my bare legs above my high-heeled sandals. Guys leaning forward in a double-time march to get to their jobs caught me on their radar and slowed to take a peek, then stopped to swivel their heads and follow me with their eyes. Delivery-men paused in their work and whistled. I laughed and gave them a wave of my hand. All of a sudden I wasn't walking. I was floating. This was me. Laura. I loved being me. I loved being seen. In the lobby of my office building I stopped and talked with Stan, the security man. Hey, did you hear that? I made a rhyme. Anyway, I'd been watching him watching me like forever, and today, since I was in no hurry, I gave him time to get a better look. I twirled my hair in my fingers and looked into his eyes and giggled at whatever it was he was saying. Then I got on the elevator and rode upstairs. I was bent over, reading the missed call notices on my desk, when I sensed Mr. Butt-hole behind me. My boss? You know, I told you about him last time. OK, his real name's Mr. Butler, but I think the one I'd made up for him suits him better. "Laura. In my office. Now." I knew from the way he said it that he was pissed off at me, but I was still floating. So I just floated in after him and watched as he settled into his big desk chair and got all important. When he was done I dropped into the chair across from him, where I usually took dictation and listened to his lame attempts to seduce me. "Laura. Do you know what time it is?" "Gosh, Mr. B. I've no idea." I crossed my legs and raised my arm to look at my bare wrist. "Well, then I'll tell you.' He lifted his own arm and pulled back the sleeve of his suit. He was trying to check his watch, but he couldn't quite take his eyes from my legs. My skirt was short, silky-thin and all but transparent, and my tan thighs stretched from under it. He yanked his cuff down and cleared his throat. "Goddamit, Laura. It doesn't matter what time it is. You're late. That's all that matters. I'm a busy man. I've got things to do, and I can't wait for you to show up whenever you damn well feel like it. You pull this shit again and you're gone. Fired. Got it?" So it had gone from "You're a lovely girl my wife just doesn't get it maybe we could…" to "You're out of here." Mr. Butt-hole had turned into Mr. Big-shot. At least he wouldn't have to get the monogram on his shirts changed. I leaned forward and clasped my knees. I knew my arms would push my breasts together, exposing more of my cleavage. I chanced a look up and saw him lifting off his chair to get a better view. He stood and came around the desk. "You know, Laura, maybe I've been too hard on you. Maybe you and I got off on the wrong foot." I sat back and let a little more leg show, and dangled the foot we'd gotten off wrong on. I peeked up at him from below my lowered lashes. I know how to do this, and I knew I had him He leaned back onto his desk. We'd been through this all before, but this time he was so sure he was in charge. "Listen," he said. I looked up. His gaze was all over me, everywhere but my eyes. "There's no reason we can't start over. If you can promise you'll be here for me when I need you, I think I can let this little lapse slide." I wasn't sure how long I wanted to let this scene play, but I was ready for some pay-back. I re-crossed my legs and looked up at him. Oh, Jesus, this was too easy. He was almost slavering. I decided to put him out of my misery. "Mr. B, I only came in this morning to tell you I'm quitting." I don't know where that came from. I just said it. What do they call it? Sputtering? Spluttering? Anyway, that was Mr. B. It was all Laura you can't and Laura you know I need you, and then it was Laura you bitch and Laura you'll never get another job in this town, and then more of both. I thought I handled it pretty well. I stood up and pulled down my skirt as far as it would go, and straightened my back and walked out. I wasn't about to flash anyone who talked to me like that. On the way down in the elevator I considered having second thoughts, but who needs those. Outside, I dug in my purse for Marc's card and punched in his number on my cell-phone. Voice-mail. OK, maybe third thoughts. Still, I was looking good, and feeling good. The walk to work had been gratifying, and I figured a stroll to Canal Street, or anyway in that direction, wouldn't do me any harm. I got plenty of wolf-whistles and cat-calls along the way, and I was pretty satisfied with myself when I rang the top bell at 114 Canal. No answer. I tried his phone again. Voice mail again. I sat down on the stone stairs outside the ware-house. I'm usually pretty up-beat, but at that moment, I was wondering if I'd counted the birds in my bush too soon. I tried to make a score-sheet in my mind. It's not as easy as you'd think, but my brain just works like that. So on the plus side was I'd blown off Mr. Butt-hole. On the down side, I didn't have a job. That seemed to even out pretty well. Again, on the plus side, I'd met Marc. And then on the down side, he hadn't answered my calls, and wasn't at home. But if I waited here long enough, he'd have to come home, and that would have to go on the plus side. I was pretty sure that had me ahead. I was still figuring the up side and the down side when Marc came walking up the street in shorts and a T-shirt, grocery bags in his hands. That's how the up side works. You can see how not everybody can do it. Whatever side, he smiled. "Hey, Laura. Wow, am I glad to see you here." The way I was sitting, with my feet on the step below me and my skirt way up, showing my legs, he'd have to be a wombat not to be glad to see me here. He handed me a bag and said to come on up. Marc led the way. The stairs were as steep and treacherous as they'd been last night, but at least now I had a view. Dimples, shmimples. Those legs. And what a butt. Upstairs we put the groceries away and Marc asked me if I wanted anything to drink. I'd been in such a rush this morning that I hadn't had my coffee or juice, but now I was celebrating, so I reached into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine. Marc raised an eye-brow, but he opened it and poured two glasses. We went and sat on the couch. Like last night, he ogled my legs, and I let my skirt ride up some more, happy to see he really cared for me. Marc leaned over and clicked his glass against mine. That smile. Those dimples. "So, Laura. Cheers. What's new?" "Well, everything. You know, after last night and all, I was late to work." Marc just looked at me, like he was waiting for more, and after a few seconds I realized he wasn't following me. "So I quit." Marc was still staring at me with a confused look. It occurred to me he might not be the brightest puppy in the tool-box. But OK, I'm probably no Eisenstein, either, and with Marc's looks, and his dimples, and that butt, who cared? I took it slow and explained. "Remember Mr. Butt-hole?" Not even a glimmer. I notched it back another gear. "My boss. I'm sure I told you. He's been, like, all over my case? Ever since my first day. And then yesterday. That stack of papers? I mean, I should have told him where he could put them all by himself. You always think of that stuff too late. You know? And today. All Mr. Puffed-up, never got up late. And still his eyes are like three sizes too big for his head looking at me, and then he's like bitch and you'll never work again and stuff, and here I am." Marc looked like I'd lost him someplace. I didn't care. He was just so cute. I put my glass down and leaned over and kissed him on the mouth. Just a little kiss, but with a flick of tongue. Of course my skirt slid up even higher on my legs. "You don't mind I came over uninvited, do you?" I whispered. "Are you kidding? I've been thinking about you ever since I woke up." Wow. I bet he never said that to those other girls. I was really beginning to like this guy. "So, what do you want to do today?" I purred at him. I stretched back away from him over the couch and wiggled my body. "Want to take some more pictures?" "Do you?" "Hmmm. I might. Or maybe you could just kiss me a while." Marc put his glass on the table. Then he was on my side of the couch, propped on his arms over me, his face a few inches from mine. I lazed my arms around his neck. Damn, he was even cuter up close. Then I closed my eyes and felt his lips brush mine. For all his hard muscles crushing into me, his lips were like silk. Slippery soft and warm/cool. I let my tongue slide out again and run across them. Marc pulled away and raised himself up on his arms. I opened my eyes and he was staring down at me. "Jesus, Laura. You're beautiful." "Yeah, I know. Come here." I tightened my arms around him and pulled him back to me. We'd done stuff last night I'm pretty sure my grandmother would never have dreamed of (how the hell did that old bat get into this?), but I'd never held him in my arms. I let my hands slide over his broad back, keeping him pressed to me. He twisted his body, and my legs opened and wrapped around his hips. Everywhere he touched me, he was all hard hot muscle, burning through our clothes. His chest and stomach on mine, his fore-arms under my shoulders. I reached lower. That butt. More muscle. All hard. I dug my fingers into him, clutching. Between my legs, where I was softening, slackening, melting, he pressed against me like a branding iron. Every curve, every bump, every vein and bulge translated itself through our clothes into heat, etching my skin. I wiggled my hips to find the perfect contact. And then I started coming. Not coming in a frenzied blast like you do in the parking lot with some guy you just met in a bar, or with your own fingers when you're sure you'll never get the key in the lock and the door shut behind you fast enough getting home from work. This was slow. Is incremental a word? Anyway, it crept up on me so gradually, almost unnoticeably, that the first inkling I had of it was immediately buried by the waves washing over me and through me. And then it was a tornado, blowing me into a million pieces. I clamped onto Marc's body with my arms and legs, crushing him to me with my whole being. I was in an electric chair of sensation, where the only question is whether your brain or your body is going to fry first. I held on tight and felt my chest thrust against his with every breath. Slowly, I eased my spider-grip on Marc's body, and he did a push-up and lifted his weight off me and sat beside me on the edge of the couch. "Um. You OK, Laura? I don't think, well I've never, um, seen..." He looked so concerned, it was kind of touching. I waited, my breathing slowing, until I could speak. I lifted a hand and stroked his cheek. "No, I bet you never have. Me, either. Just give me a minute." I still didn't really know what had happened. Now that I was coming around, I thought I'd be sore, or exhausted, but I realized I'd never felt better in my life. I was totally energized. In an easy, relaxed, brains fucked out sort of way. And we hadn't even fucked. I let my hand drift down over my panties, just to see if everything was still alive down there. I'd expected them to be soaked, and they were, but the little shock-waves that raced through me when I stroked over the silk surprised me. I looked at Marc. His eyes followed my fingers as they probed under the elastic. "Whatcha looking at?" Marc gulped and stood up. He hooked his fingers in his shorts and started to tug them down. "Wait," I told him. "Can you? Not long. I promise. Let's take some pictures." Marc was dying. I knew it. I loved it. I stood up and peeled my skirt down and stepped out of it and stripped my top over my head so that all I had on were my panties. I grabbed his hand and led him over to the corner where his bed stood. I saw the tent in his shorts and knew how much he wanted me. I wanted him just as much, but I bent at the cabinet and pulled out a light-stand. Marc knelt next to me. He could barely keep his eyes off my ass, but he helped me, and in a moment we had the spots and the silver umbrellas set up and the camera fixed on its tripod. "How does it work?" I asked Marc. All either of us wanted to do was fuck each other into outer space, but I had the germ of another idea, and Marc seemed willing to show off his stuff. His photographic stuff, I mean. "It's actually less complicated than the Brownie you shot on vacation when you were a kid," he explained. My brownie? What was that all about? How could he know I was dropping my bikini bottom and spreading my cheeks and showing my butt to every boy on the beach who wanted to see it all those summers ago? One more for the up-side. This guy was absolutely my soul-mate. "It's got auto-focus," he was saying, "and it adjusts for the available light. You just point and shoot. You can see what you're shooting in this screen here, and then you just push this button. It's all automatic." I bent and looked. "All I can see is the bed. Pretty boring with nobody in it. Go over there so I can see you." Marc went and sat on the bed and filled the little screen in front of me. He looked so tiny. I raised my head and saw him, all big and muscles and all. I wanted to go over and jump on him, but I even more wanted to hold him here captive. I looked back at the screen. When I had focused my eyes on it, I told him, "Go on. Do it." "Do what?" I think I'm pretty patient, but did I have to explain everything to him? "Take off your clothes, dummy." Marc's pea-sized face looked surprised in the screen. I pushed a button with my thumb and zoomed in on his eyes. I pushed it the other way and got the full body shot again. This photography business couldn't be that simple, could it? Last night I'd thought there was something about posing for a photographer, a real professional photographer with a web-site and his own business card, not just some boy from the street behind you in his father's garage with his father's camera and a couple of his friends watching, that made what I was doing some sort of art. OK, it had ended up with me on the floor fingering myself to death, and Marc watching me and stroking himself off and painting my feet. These things happen. But I'd been the one who stripped and posed for the camera, and Marc had taken all the pictures. He was the artist. Now the chairs were turned. "Come on. Do it." I had the camera, and the power. I have to give Marc credit. Women's lib didn't seem to bother him too much. He peeled off his shirt and twisted this way and that, smiling in the screen. Well, why not. He had a beautiful body to show. I had to keep reminding myself to look at the screen and not over it at him on the bed. But I mean, really, those shoulders, and that chest and those thighs under his shorts, they were all so tiny on the camera, and there, just a few feet away, they were all so big and like, right there. I made myself focus on the screen. I guess this is what they mean when they say an artist sacrifices so much for his art. Or hers. I was about to tell Marc to get out of his shorts, but he was already doing it. I wasn't too sure I liked him taking artistic decisions out of my hands like this, but oh god, he was stripping his boxers down and there was that cock, that beautiful pillar of flesh I'd seen last night and that had burrowed against me just a few minutes ago and nearly made me expire, if that's the word, and well, oh god, oh jesus, he'd said it was all so simple and automated, I didn't really need two hands for the camera, did I? I have to say I was proud of myself. It would have been easy to let it all go and just close my eyes and diddle myself to smithereens, but I kept my eyes on the screen and one hand on the camera. Professional. Marc was naked on the bed, sitting back with his legs bent under him, his hands behind him on the bed propping him up, and his cock was pointing up at the ceiling and sort of bouncing, and all wet and shiny, and I swear even bigger than I'd seen it last night. His face was turning red and his eyes were half closed, and all his muscles were jumping and twitching. Oh, my god. This was new, even for me. As far as I could tell, and I had seen enough in my life to know, Marc was right on the very edge of coming, without me even touching him. As much as I wanted to be the artist behind the camera, I wanted even more to be the one. The one to make it happen. I hoped the camera was as automatic as he said it was and would go on taking pictures. I walked over to the side of the bed and looked down at him. He was having trouble zeroing in on me, but I lifted my left foot and placed my high-heeled sandal on his thigh. That got his attention. He flinched and his eyes popped open. "You ready, Marc?" He just groaned. God, what a sweetie. My legs were spread wide and my dripping, pouting little pussy was pointed at his face. I needed him to see more of me. I reached down and pulled the thin, soaked strip of my panties aside. I watched him. I could see he was dying for me, dying to just reach out and touch my fat swollen lips. His eye-lids had drooped again to half-mast, but even so, his gaze was white-hot, seeking, probing, scalding me. His hand stretched toward me, but I backed away just out of his reach. He went for the next best thing. I knew he would, the state he was in. When his fingers were opening to wrap around his cock, to finally bring him to the place he'd wanted, needed to be since we started this, I told him, "Stop. Don't touch it." DotCom Ch. 02 I knew I really was the one when he froze. His eyes were bulging, his muscles, all those muscles, were straining, popping and bursting. But he stopped. "Jesus, Laura. Come on." I had the power, and I wanted to prove it. I wanted him to come. Oh, fuck, I wanted him to come. I was dying to come again, too, but what I really wanted was to make Marc come my way. No hands. No touching. Just the power. My power. "Just watch." I pushed my pussy toward him and played my fingers over my lips. Marc watched as I stroked over the tender wet flesh, sliding, tugging, spreading. Oh, fuck. I was as gone as he was. But I kept my eyes open and willed him to keep watching me. The tip of my index finger slipped into my opening, and then my middle finger, and then I just swallowed them both into me, up to the last knuckles. My thumb brushed the slick knob of my clit, and my left hand flew to my breast. My legs were shaking so that I wasn't certain I could keep standing. "Jesus, Marc. I'm, oh, god, this is killing me. I don't know how long, oh, shit, I think I'm going to come." Marc looked up into my eyes, then his closed tight and he grunted, "Uunnhhh, damn. Me, too." I looked down. He was still propped on both hands. I looked farther down. His hips raised off the bed, and his cock, his beautiful red swollen cock, was straining upwards, jerking to the trip-hammer beat of his heart. Oh, I loved this man. And he loved me. I don't know what else you'd call that look in his eyes. I knew he needed me, and I let go of my nipple and reached down and just let my finger trickle over the ridges of his scrunched up balls. Marc's pent-up breath burst out of his lungs, and at the same time a thick jet of white milky cum exploded out of the head of his cock, flying up into the air almost as high as my breasts, and splashing down again onto his chest. Before it landed another stream was launched, and then another and another and then… I'm not actually sure. Everything sort of went black for me then. My right hand was grappling at my pussy, the fingers of my left hand were up at my chest again, tugging the nipple from my breast, and my pulse was pounding like a locomotive in my ears. And just before my legs gave way and my body escaped my control, a clear, bright thought lodged in my mind. I was the one. It must have been some time later that I became aware of Marc's hands caressing my back. I lifted my head and shook it, flinging my damp hair back onto my shoulders. I was slumped across Marc's chest. A lake of warm liquid squished between us when I moved. I opened my eyes and looked down at Marc, and found him looking up at me. "Wow," I told him. I think I'm a pretty good conversationalist, but at that moment, that's all that I could come up with. "Wow," he replied. I had to smile. Soul-mates. My brain was beginning to catch up with the rest of me, and I asked him, "Did that really just happen? Did you just…" "Oh, yeah. Did I ever. I'll tell you, Laura. That was absolutely a first for me. You're amazing." My heart did a little pitter-patter, and I kissed him. Oh, this guy. Maybe he was a, what do you call it? A diamond in the rough. See what I mean? I've got it all, right there on the tip of my tongue when my brain's not all fogged up. OK, what was on the tip of my tongue was the tip of Marc's tongue, but you get my drift. I nuzzled his neck and rested my head on his broad shoulder. What a day. Got up late. Quit my job. Had two of the most intense orgasms of my life with Mr. Right. Oh, Laura. You really are the one. I drifted off a little then, awash in my thoughts, and Marc, well, Marc did whatever he does when he's feeling the way I was feeling then. Suddenly he stiffened, not the way you're thinking, and not the way I would have minded at all, even as depleted as I was. His whole body. He shifted out from under me, sliding easily with all the lubricant between us, and got out of bed. "Hey. Where you going?" "The lights. They're over-heating. Smell it? And the wiring. Shit." What I smelled was the sharp, creamy pungency, if that's the word I'm looking for, of Marc's cum, still warm on my skin and wafting up to fill my nostrils, and the earthy odor of my own sex. I just wanted to lie there and savor it, but I forced myself up and helped him get everything un-plugged. After all, I was the one who'd started this. It was my project, and I was unexpectedly fired with a desire to see the fruits of it. "Oh, man," Marc said. "That was close. See how the other lights have dimmed?" I'd thought it was just me, but now I noticed it, too. "I think it's going to be all right," Marc told me. "It's happened before. If we wait a few minutes, the power should come back up." A pang of jealousy shot through me. Who had it happen before with? Pictures of other girls, under the lights and in his bed, flickered through my mind. Then I saw Marc, and the way he was looking at me, and I threw it all off. I knew I was the one. I walked over and pressed my naked body into his. My arms found their way around his waist, and his around my shoulders. I kissed him, deep, my tongue and lips working, and held him close. When I felt his cock nudge me on its way up, all the other girls disappeared for good. I leaned back and looked up past him at the ceiling lights. As far as I could tell, they were back at full strength. So was Marc. I reached between us and felt him all fat and thick again in my hand. I realized then that I'd never had him in me, and my pussy filled with warmth and began to drip with longing. But first things first. I stepped back, still holding him lightly. God, I wanted to stuff him into me, just lift my legs around his waist and settle down onto that pole and let it impale me. Fill me. But right now it was time for me to be the professional again. "Think the computer's working?" I asked him. "Uh, yeah. Sure. But Laura." "I know. Me, too. Maybe more than you. But I want to see the pictures. Come on. Show me." Marc looked at me like I was speaking Russian. Which I can't, by the way. But I bet I could, if I tried. Anyway, I turned away and pulled him over to the computer, like a dog on its leash. If a leash was made of warm, pulsing flesh so thick your fingers couldn't close around it. I let go and pushed him into the chair at the desk. "Go on. Fire it up." Marc looked up at me, confusion written all over his face. I loved the way I could turn him into a blithering idiot, but I really wanted to see the pictures. I bent down and kissed his neck where it connected with his shoulder and whispered into his ear. "Come on. Do it." Marc spun in the chair to face me. "Laura, pictures don't go into the computer by magic." Huh? Oh, right. I remembered how last night Marc had hooked the camera to the computer with a wire. "OK. I'll get the camera. You get the thingy all set up." I scampered back over to the bed-room area. I was so anxious it took forever to figure out how the screw that held the camera on the tripod worked, but I finally got it and brought the camera to Marc. "Hook it up. I'm dying to see it." I could sense some hesitation, some doubt, in Marc, but like I said, this was my project and I was in charge. He must have realized it, too, because he plugged the wire into the camera and set it on the desk next to the computer. "Come on. Come on. Do it." Marc clicked the mouse a few times, and yep, there it was. A tiny picture of Marc on the bed. "Make it bigger." He clicked again and the image filled the screen. God, he was good-looking. "OK. Go on. Let's see the rest." Marc looked up at me. "Laura…' "Shh. Show me the rest." Another click, and there it was again. The little picture of Marc in the corner of a bright blue back-ground. "We saw that one already. Go to the rest. Oh, this is so exciting. Hurry up. I can't wait." "Um, Laura," Marc began. "Later. Show me." "Laura, that's all there is." I was so wound up that his words didn't really get through to me at first. "Don't be ridiculous. We were like, I don't know how long, but the camera must have taken millions of pictures. You said it was all automatic." Marc looked up at me. "What?" "You know. Like you said. Automatic." "Laura, how many times did you push the shutter button?" "Well, just the once, silly. To get it started." That seemed obvious enough. Marc stood up and wrapped his arms around me. "Laura, you're something else." His eyes were all tender and sweet. Really, he was the cutest guy. "Yeah. I know. But am I the one?"