2 comments/ 57205 views/ 1 favorites Dale By: terseperverse Dale lights a cigarette on the back porch. It's raining out, but only just. It's that misty, dewy sort of rain that isn't really worth wearing an umbrella in but leaves your clothes damp all day. He snaps the lighter closed and puts it in his sweater pocket, staring back into my living room through the screen door. He looks contemplative, taking a drag like he doesn't need to, letting the acrid blue-grey smoke drift out of his mouth of its own accord. Effortless. When I come out of the kitchen with two beers, I'm thankful that he's finally taken to smoking on the porch. He used to do it in my living room, without regard to what we were doing, or who was there. It pissed me off having to tell him I didn't like it. He says I'm a hypocrite because I smoke pot in my bathroom. He doesn't argue, though. Just points it out, so I know. I bring the beer out onto the porch, closing the screen behind my back. Dale turns to me slowly and smiles, tiny puffs of smoke drifting up from his hand and hair, diluted by the mist. He offers me a cigarette for the thousandth time, and I shake my head. I hold out the beer to him and he takes it. "I've been thinking," he says, putting the smoke in his mouth and twisting off the beer cap, "about Christine." He doesn't look at me directly when he says it, because he knows I won't smile. "Why would you tell me that?" "I don't know, I'm just thinking about her. She said all this fucked up shit yesterday, about us." "About you and I?" "No," he says, as if he hadn't considered it, "about me and her. About our relationship. About commitment." "She doesn't know, does she?" I put down my beer and step closer to him, putting my hand on his waist, moving it towards the front of his jeans. "Fuck... No, she doesn't," he says, taking a sip and then another drag, still staring off into the horizon of my screen door. Never looking at me. "Then what about?" I ask him, reaching down to stroke the zipper, pushing on it, feeling him start to wake up. "I don't know. Her and I... I mean, I know she's messed around with other guys, at parties and stuff. She even made out with Chantelle at Steve's once, but that was just for his birthday, and everyone was drunk. Now, I guess, she wants to get serious. She says she's going to stop." I start moving down to my knees as he's talking, listening to half of what he says, the three drinks I've already had working faster than usual. I unzip him and pull him out, hard and warm in the cool, damp air. "I mean, I don't know what to do," he says, "normally I don't care about this stuff. But Christine is, I don't know, special. I guess that sounds kinda gay." I look up at him, my hand around his dick. He smiles, just so. "Dale, you are kinda gay. In fact, you're a fag, but I've been telling you this for years. I've been telling you this as long as we've been fucking behind the backs of every girlfriend you've had for the last eight years." "Yeah, but Ellen didn't give a shit," he says. "Ellen was a dyke." Dale gives a nod of 'you're right about that' and stares off again, sucking on the last of the cigarette, then flicking it behind him. He's just noticed what I'm doing, and peers down at me. I get no look of recognition, but his eyes flicker as I take him in my mouth. "Fuck. Ellen, I mean, that was cool," he says, "because she didn't give a shit. Now Christine does, and I think I like her. I mean, I think I'm supposed to. She keeps talking about houses and table settings and caterers and I don't know what it means." I slide my tongue up the base of his cock and he leans against the porch fence. He takes another sip of his beer, still staring, still lost. His brain is not connected to anything below his shoulders, and his hips move on their own. I slide him out of my mouth and let him feel the chill rain before going down again. He pushes against my face, more insistent now. "Last week she brought towels over to my apartment. Yellow towels. Martha Stewart brand or something. She took my towels away somewhere and now I have these fucking Martha Stewart towels in my bathroom." I run my tongue across the tip of him inside my mouth, around and around, then thrust myself down on him, getting him wet. My hand moves up to the base and grabs him, firm, squeezing him while I play with my lips. "The thing I hate is that the towels, they go with my wallpaper. Yesterday, she bought a shower curtain. She's taking over my bathroom." My hand grabs his balls as I take as much of him as I can. He bucks towards me and he comes, hard, in my mouth. I swallow, lick him as clean as I can and stand up, and he's still hard. He kisses me, open-mouthed, tasting himself. He's all beer and cigarettes, musky and horrible. He tastes like the floor of a bar. I pull back, looking at him. He's already put himself away and zipped up. "You're a fag, Dale," I say, staring him in the eyes, "how many times do I have to suck you off before you admit it?" "At least one more time," he replies, smiling through his ashtray. "Want me to come over and fuck you on those towels?" "I kind of do." "You're a fag, Dale." "I know." Dale and Liz Do Mom I hadn't meant for this to be a two (or more) part story but it seemed to demand it, also, I had a request for a second part. The first part is titled Dale. So here is the second part. I'm thinking of a Chapter 3, but I don't know yet, my time is at a premium. A word for those of you who have nothing better to do with your time or life, if you have nothing but insults for me, save them, I know the limits of my skills. On the other hand if you've creative criticism I'd be happy to hear it. And if you want to chat, it would be best if you are female. Thanks DALE'S MOM It had been a long and exhausting day and all Susan wanted to do was get home and pour a glass of red wine. She was ten minutes from her house and the traffic was beginning to back up and she began to swear. Usually when this happened she didn't let it bother her, but she was going on four hours of sleep and a crushing work load. It had taken her twenty minutes to complete the usual ten minute drive and by the time she was out of the car and the garage door was only half closed, she was already opening the buttons on her blouse. She slammed the kitchen door and headed straight for the liquor cabinet and poured a healthy glass of wine. She tossed her blouse onto a nearby chair and sprawled on the sofa in the den. She kicked off her shoes and swallowed half the glass of wine and sighed with relief. Dale, her eldest, was home from college for the summer and he had a job but he usually didn't get home till late, but now it was past nine and he wasn't in which meant that he was with his friends. His sister Elizibeth was working part time but she had said she'd be with her friends which for her that meant that she wouldn't be home till at least midnight. Susan had the house to herself. She loosened the button and zipper of her skirt and lay back on the sofa, not wanting to move anything but the arm with the wine glass at the end of it. It wasn't long before the glass was empty and she was dozing off. Soon the glass fell from her hand and her head bowed down and she was sound asleep. The moment she had left her office she had removed the band that held her dark up in a bun and now it had fallen loosely halfway down her back. The hair had fallen forward and her face was half hidden and it was this way Liz saw her an hour later when she got home. Her mother wearing a lacy, black push-up bra that barely covered her nipples and her skirt open. She wasn't wearing a slip so her panties were nearly visible. Liz wondered if she was wearing panty-hose or a garter belt. She poured herself a glass of wine and sat down to study her mother. She was lovely, but she was also half naked and her brother Dale would be home soon. So what should she do about her it? She could wake her and send her to bed or she could get a blanket and cover her, or she could wait for Dale and they could carry her to bed. She'd seen her mother naked but that had been years ago, now, laying there with her hair in her face and wearing nothing but a bra and skirt was rather erotic. Liz found this exciting and tried to think why she found her mother so. She wanted to pull her mom's skirt off to see if her panties matched her bra and whether or not she was wearing panty-hose, mostly she wanted to see what her mother looked like naked. She poured another glass of wine and stood beside her mother trying to make a decision. As she starred at her mother she decided the heck with it, and setting down her wine glass she carefully pulled her skirt of. She dropped the skirt on the floor and looked at her mom. She had black lacy panties that matched her lacy bra and Liz took in a sharp breath. Through the material she could see that her mother shaved her pussy and that surprised the girl. She giggled. But now she wanted to see her mother's naked pussy, see what her lips looked like and if they looked like hers. She watched her mother's face, making sure she was still sleeping soundly and after several minutes she thought she could go ahead. First, she needed another sip of wine. Now she was ready and with a deep breath she took hold of the waist band and started pulling the panties down, past her knees then off altogether. Liz stood and looked at her mom's pussy and smiled. Bending down she got her mother's ankles and spread her legs apart until she could see all of her pussy. It was beautiful! The lips were closed so that they made just a slit between her legs and that was what Liz's pussy looked like until she was aroused. Then the lips parted and the inner lips opened like a flower. Liz could feel her juices running down her legs, her panties were soaked and she loved it. Also she was so horney she could hardly stand it. And that meant she wasn't done with her mother yet. Carefully she reached behind her and unclipped her bra and pulled it away from her tits. Except that her mom's tits were bigger than hers, they looked the same. Both had protruding nipples and the areoles were darker. Liz sat down on the chair across from the sofa and stared at her naked mother. She slid her hand down the front of her pants and began rubbing her pussy. She slid her fingers between her pussy lips which were getting wetter and wetter. Slowly she was working her way to a climax but first she had to take her pants and panties all the way off. Now she was naked from the waist down, her legs spread wide, and she was rubbing her pussy with one hand and her clit with the other. She inserted three fingers into her cunt and fucked herself as hard and as fast as she could. It wasn't long before she was cumming, trying hard not to scream. Her orgasm has started somewhere in her brain and rocketed all the way down to her toes and back up again, slamming into her cunt with the force of a mac truck. For several minutes her hips bucked up and her body rocked to the multiple orgasms before she finally stopped cumming. She was near to passing out, sweat was rolling down her body. She quickly shucked her blouse and bra and now she was naked, too. It was then that Dale came home and before Liz knew it he was standing in the living room door looking at the two naked women. "Liz! What the ...? Liz shushed him, "mom's asleep, keep your voice down." He hissed at her, "what the fuck is going on here? Why are you guys doing naked?" "Mom was asleep on the couch, she had her skirt open and her blouse off. I think she was drinking." "That doesn't explain why she'd completely naked." "I undressed her, dummy." "What the fuck for? Couldn't you just wake her and send her up to bed?" "I could of but I didn't, I wanted to see her naked." "Are you turning into a lesbian?" "No fucking way, asshole, I love cocks too much!" "Yeah? So why are you naked? Your cunt is all wet, are you jerking off?" "What do you think?" "So you got mom naked, so you could get naked and jerk off?" "Yeah, you got a problem with that?" "Fuck, now what? We can't leave her like that." "We can carry her upstairs and put her to bed." "Right." For the first time Dale began to look at his mom. She had a gorgeous body and he had to wonder what it would be like to fuck her. He loved the way her pussy looked and wondered what it would look like when she got hot. Her tits were like Liz's and he wanted to play with them. Hell, he'd fucked Liz once already, but it was a wham bam sort of thing. He had shoved his cock in her and fucked like a rabbit until he shot his cum and then pulled out. He wanted to take time with her now and give her a proper fucking. "Okay, I'll take her shoulders and you get her feet, but move up so you can get her by the back of her knees," Dale said. He got her under the arms and around her chest just under her tits, and giggling, Liz got between her legs where she had a perfect view of her mom's pussy. She wondered what it would taste like and if she would ever get a chance to find out. Walking slowly backward Dale made his way to the stairs with Liz following. Slowly they made their way up the stairs and into her bedroom. Gently they laid her on the edge of the bed and pulled the covers down on the other side then moved her over there and pulled the rest of the covers down. Their chore done they both stood and looked at their naked mom. Liz, naked was dripping pussy juice down her legs and Dale's hard on was beginning to leak pre-cum. "What now?" "What do you mean, what now?" Dale was sure he knew what she was talking about but he wanted to hear her say it. "Wouldn't you like to touch her pussy, if not with your tongue then you fingers?" Liz smirked. "You lick her pussy, you're the one who wants too." "You're a sissy!" "Fuck you." "Well then, lick her pussy." Liz challenged. "What, you think I'm scared?" "Yes." "Aw fuck you." And with that Dale took a deep breath and bent over, his nose less than an inch from that glorious pussy. A faint scent rose from it and it was intoxicating. Putting out his tongue he slowly licked her from the bottom of her pussy to the top then back down again. This was awesome! He licked her again top to bottom and back again. About the forth time he pushed his tongue between her lips and got the first glorious taste of his mom's pussy juices and he loved it. He continued licking her pussy, inside and outside and having the good sense to avoid her clit, that would surely wake her. And that was the last thing he wanted. He pushed his tongue deeper into her cunt and fucked her with it, wishing it was his cock, but hopefully that would come later. He felt a tap on his shoulder and looked up. "My turn," Liz said. "What?" "Yeah, move your ass I want a taste too. Watch so she doesn't wake up." Reluctantly Dale moved away but now without one final lick. Liz bent over her mother's pussy and didn't hesitate for a moment. She had her tongue between the lips and was licking fast and furious. This was the first time she'd tasted pussy and she loved it, in her mind she make sure that she would get more. She licked for several minutes and now the juice from her mother's cunt was flowing fast, puddling around her ass, soaking the bed. That didn't stop Liz, she licked as much juice from her ass as she could. Dale tapped her on the shoulder. He was naked and he had his massive hard cock in his hand and jerking off. He wanted to lick more pussy while he jerked off. Liz had another idea. When Dale resumed licking his mother's cunt Liz took over jerking him off. Life, he thought, doesn't get any better than this. If either sibling had bothered to look they would see that Susan's eyes were open just a tiny bit and she had a little smile on her face. Dale's licking was getting him closer to her clit and if he could hear her thoughts he'd know it was time to start sucking on it. But he couldn't and he was concerned that that would wake her. Liz had never had a cock in her mouth, let alone one this big, but she was doing the best she could and loving every second of it. She was hoping that she could get him to cum in her mouth but she had to see if her mother was still sleeping. She was amazed that she could sleep through all this. But that was okay, maybe next time they could play when they were all awake. Dale was running out of control and now he was sucking his mother's clit and fucking her with three fingers. Liz, working hard on his cock had him seconds from cumming, he stiffened, he felt his balls beginning to let go and suddenly he was shooting streams and streams of cum into Liz's mouth and down her throat. His mother was cumming too, but she tried hard to control herself, not wanting them to know she was awake, but her orgasm, like her son's was earth-shattering. Dale fell away from his mother and leaning against the bed, sat on the floor trying to get his breath. He had a smile from ear to ear, his cock was still semi-stiff and oozing cum. Liz sat there looking at it and decided this was too much to waste. She slide it into her mouth again and sucked on it till there was nothing left to suck out. But this time Dale's cock was hard again. "Do you think mom came?" "I think so, she was moving around, and thanks for the blow job. Your first one?" "Yep, good, huh?" "Yes it was." "Okay, you and mom got off, now what about me? What are you going to do to get me off?" "See this hard cock here, sticking straight up in the air? You can sit on it." Liz got up and straddling her brother's lap, placing his cock at the entrance to her cunt, slowly sliding down on it. She loved the way her pussy felt being stretched out by such a magnificent cock. Slowly she slid down, relishing the feeling that it had on the inside of her pussy. At first she didn't think she could take it all the way in, but before long she was feeling his balls against her ass. She was riding his cock, loving the feeling of every stroke, the way it felt against the walls inside her pussy. And the stretching, she couldn't believe how wonderful that felt inside her cunt. For several minutes she kept a steady pace, not wanting to cum, but simply to feel his cock inside her cunt. She didn't know how long she could put off an orgasm, but she held her pace. As it turned out her brother wasn't going to hold out that long and he began ramming his cock into her hard and fast. She couldn't help it, she matched his speed and Dale went stiff and so did Liz and both started cumming at the same time. Dale was pumping stream after stream of cum into his sister's cunt and she was pouring out her pussy juice down his cock, balls and onto his ass. After several moments their orgasms were slowly faded and they collapsed against one another. Dale loved the feeling of his sister's tits against his chest, they were small and firm and the nipples were rock hard. If they would have paid attention they would have seen their mother leaning over the edge of the bed watching them, and fingering herself. And her two lovely children fucking their brains out. It wasn't long before she had three fingers in her pussy and a couple from the other hand twisting and teasing her clit. She still had her son's cum running down her legs as well as her own pussy juice and she wanted more, but not tonight. She watched as they began to cum and she worked her fingers even faster until she too had a most intense orgasm. She couldn't remember if she'd ever cum so fantastically. But she was shaking all over, rolling over on her back with her legs still spread wide apart and her fingers still in her pussy, moving slowly and sensuously. She was thinking about fucking her children. She knew that there was not only moral issues involved, but there was also the legal aspect of it. But she had felt her son's cock in her and she wanted more of it. And her daughter's lovely little shaved pussy was a sight to behold and she thought it would be the perfect to put her tongue. Her fingers were still busy as she slowly drifted off too sleep, her legs spread wide. Dale Carnegie Course I had just changed jobs to a company that was big on human resource-type training courses. Had I known this at the time of accepting employment, I probably would have run like Forrest Gump, but what the hell, the class was in Lake Mary, Florida, almost smack dab between Orlando and Daytona Beach, and that's not the worst place to spend three nights. Although this was the middle of August, and it was hot as Hades. But, fortunately I discovered something even more humid during my excursion to Central Florida: Myra's pussy. My skepticism toward such training seminars, though, was reinforced when I walked into what would serve as our small classroom in a Hilton Garden Hotel conference room. There was a whiteboard. A whiteboard is exponentially scarier than any thrill ride or Halloween mask or Ludacris song. I've been in the corporate world for over two decades and have the emotional scars to prove it, and I can attest that whenever you see a whiteboard in a conference room, it is not going to be a good experience for members of the audience. Some pompous so-called 'professional trainer' who couldn't make it in sales or operations is going to make inquires with the condescendingly nurturing tone of a dog whisperer training a puppy who is not yet house-broken, and then will scrawl the responses down with a Sharpie in crooked penmanship with a lot of arrows and swirly circles, all having the result of mind-numbing the audience into a coma-like state of intellectual surrender. Perhaps you can see why I was chosen for Dale Carnegie training in the first place. Even though I was early, I took a seat in the back row, ignored the lukewarm pitcher of water, my number two pencil and the obligatory note pad with the hotel logo on it that are staple items of the corporate trainer, and buried my face in the USA Today sports page, hoping against hope that I would blink and the clock could magically accelerate by about sixty hours or so. This was gonna be a looooong three days. I smelled her before I saw her. The sweet, head-turning aroma of carnations or gardenias in the morning dew. Picking up the olfactory sensor, my nose instinctively sniffed and twitched like a Labrador Retriever near a gopher hole. Such a scent could only belong to someone equally intoxicating. A binder slapped down on the table next to my seat; each table was wide enough to sit only two people, and my outlook on the seminar changed considerably when I saw my new partner. The first words that entered my mind were 'hard body'. Now, normally, I'll readily admit, I'm not easily intimidated by all things female, but if there's one attribute that might sway me to the side of insecurity, it's a woman's body that has enough muscle definition to let me know she could not only arm-wrestle me into submission, but also pin me to the mat in no time flat. Not that there's anything wrong with that, when you stop to think about it. We'd find something to do in that position, I'm sure. Hey, it's not my natural instinct, but I can role-play a submissive if the situation dictates. I'm very much a gentleman that way. She hadn't sat down yet, and when I turned my head, she was reaching for something out of a shoulder bag and turned mostly away from me, such that my eyes were at the level of her hips and a beautiful steel-hard gluteus maximus, and a pair of perfectly tanned rippling hard thighs, contained snugly by a pair of tight, beige, pleated shorts. My eyes lingered downward to see that she had on a pair of three-inch gladiator sandal heels, which gave her lower legs a toned, yet less physically intimidating presence, her shapely calves and ankles hugging around the wedges of the sexy, though tasteful, shoes. She had on a short-sleeve cranberry blouse, and as she bent down to extract her blackberry from her bag, her firm tits hung down, encased in the tight shirt, slightly obscured by a mane of straight, light brown hair that fell from her shoulders as she leaned over. When she stood up, however, I saw her face for the first time, and it was nothing like I would have guessed. I was anticipating a botox-laden, plastic, craggy countenance for some reason, like a crossing guard who had spent too much time in the midday sun, which is what I had come to expect from watching too many late-night ESPN womens' body-building competitions, admittedly. (C'mon, 'fess up, you watch those shows, too, you know you do!) Instead, I saw a fresh, freckled face with big light brown eyes that matched her hair, and she lit up the room with a Texas-sized friendly smile, since that is exactly where Myra turned out to be from, good ol' Lubbock, Texas. "Your body language tells me that you're as excited to be here as I am," she said in that impossibly sexy drawl that is indigenous to West Texas, a twang that draws out each word so slowly and properly that even the word 'yes' turns into two syllables: "yay-ess". From beneath the desk, at least one part of me was fast becoming VERY excited to be here. I groaned, holding my hands out in front of me like a criminal waiting to be cuffed, caught dead in the heinous crime of indifference. "Guilty. Is it that obvious?" She grinned as she eased into her seat next to mine. "Yay-ess." There it was, my heart fluttered. Why can just the sound of a pretty girl's accent go right to a man's dick and evoke an involuntary penile reaction? She held out an impeccably manicured hand, and I noticed how tiny it was. Sick fuck that I am, I always get instantly aroused when a woman has small hands, 'cause as an old sexual mentor once told me many years ago, "Always seek out a chick with tiny palms, because every dick seems enormous to them." (Of course, I was about eleven at the time of that sagely advice offered by a much older gigolo in the SEVENTH grade, and didn't get a chance to try out the theory for about another seven years or so, but hey, I never forgot it. Wisdom is timeless.) "Myra. Myra McIntyre." Her introduction was simple and humble, befitting of a Texas girl. From the neck up, she was a true angle. From the neck down, she looked as cut as a kickboxer or fitness model, which I was to learn she was indeed both. Five-feet two, one hundred and ten pounds of sheer, fit, feminine grace. A young steel magnolia. I grasped her palm, expecting a death-grip in return, but instead was greeted by a warm, soft handshake that lingered a second or two longer than it needed to. "John, John Walters," I smiled deep into her sparkling fawn-brown eyes. "And that's Anais Anais you're wearing, isn't it? Your perfume?" Her eyes sparkled in glee, and she lowered her turned-up pixie-like nose to her upturned wrist and sniffed. "Why, yay-ess, I guess you're right!" She slapped my thigh playfully, and I remember thinking that about six inches higher and Dale Carnegie himself would have been arrested for lewd and lascivious behavior, unable to contain his libido. "How did you know that?" she squealed happily, seemingly truly intrigued. Just at that exact moment, the course administrator, a silver-haired man who resembled the prototype of everybody's cordial grandfather, cleared his throat, calling the class participant's attention to the podium. I leaned over and whispered in her ear, inhaling her flowery scent at closer range, my dick getting harder by the second. "I'll tell ya later, Myra. Over lunch, maybe?" She winked and gave me a thumbs-up. "You got it, mystery man. Can't wait to find out what other tricks you may have." Oh, maybe one or two, Myra. As fate would have it, the instructor organized a group lunch for the class at a TGI Friday's across the street, so Myra and I didn't get a chance for some time alone, though we made small talk throughout the day, especially during our brief breaks. In one such conversation, Myra revealed that she was married, but I was garnering from her own words and body language that she didn't seem to be all that enthralled about the whole situation. I was receiving subtle signals that maybe this might be worth pursuing, but intuition also told me that this was a woman who no doubt was hit upon constantly, and a very subtle approach might prove to be the most successful. So, essentially, I had to walk that trepidatious tightrope between ambition and aggression, between not coming across as too eager to get into those skintight shorts of hers, while facing the reality that I'd be getting on a flight back home in three days and may never see her again. Fate had placed her next to me, I decided, so fate ultimately would determine whether or not Myra and I would be intimate. Well, that, and my ever-trusty trump card. It's nice to have an eight-and-half-inch dick in such a situation, it's a very convenient ice-breaker when needed. A good ace in the hole, so to speak. Plus, life experiences and a keen attention to detail have shown me that a woman makes it known when she is willing to fuck; if the right sensors are aroused, the proper boundaries are maintained, and the correct buttons are pushed. It could have been wishful thinking on my part, but I was getting discernible vibes from Myra that she just might be willing to seek an opportunity of her own for some playtime, since she was about fourteen hundred miles away from hubby for a few days. Late in the afternoon, a session in the seminar gave me a chance to push the envelope a bit, a risk/reward type of game that I decided was a chance worth taking. If it backfired, in a worst-case scenario, I could easily see myself losing my job to a sexual harassment claim. True, Myra and I weren't co-workers, but if she blew the whistle on me to the Dale Carnegie group, my actions would get back to my new employer before I returned home, and I would be 'career toast'. However, as Joan Rivers once said in perhaps the most accurate definition of what constitutes sexual harassment, "Sexual harassment depends entirely on how attractive the woman finds the man." I was getting enough cues from Myra to roll the dice. Hey, I can always get another job, right? We were asked to break into pairs and describe a situation to your class partner that made one feel unappreciated in a workplace setting, and ask the partner's advice as to what counsel they could offer. Of course, Myra and I chose each other as partners. I beseeched her to begin the exercise by telling her, "Please, you go first, consider me Ross Perot." She wrinkled her nose, not understanding my analogy. "All ears," I explained. She giggled delightedly, responding, "You think a Texas girl would have gotten that one." The joke seemed to immediately put her even more at ease, and she leaned closer to me as she commenced on her story's journey. I had heard somewhere that if a woman's toes are pointing straight at you, then she's sending signals that she's interested. Myra had curled her legs criss-crossed into a Lotus sitting position on her chair, and her toes were pointed directly at my crotch. I'll have to look up what that means, but I'm betting that it's good. "Well," she began hesitantly, "I'm a little embarrassed to say this, but I sell fitness equipment and apparel, and it's important to me to look good. But, sometimes...." Her face turned an adorable bright shade of crimson, and her eyes bashfully looked up at me for comfort. I gave her my best sincere "Otter" Stratton look, the character made famous by Tim Matheson in the movie 'Animal House' as he seduced both Mrs. Wormer and Fawn Leibowitz. "Go on, I'm here for you," my eyes said silently, imploring her to continue, as I looked up the slight gap in her shorts as she was sitting cross-legged to see a pair of lacy pink panties covering her Texas honeypot. All I was missing was a toga, but if I had one on, my raging hard-on would now be stretching the sheet beyond recognition. She smiled at me, looking down, and I wasn't altogether certain, but I think her gaze lingered at my dick now. Just to be sure, I made not the slightest movement to conceal myself. I was rock-hard, the only part of me that could ever hope to approach being as hard as her body, and I wanted her to know it. She continued in almost a whisper, glancing around to see if our classmates were eavesdropping. "Well, I don't know how to say it, so I guess I'll just blurt it out. I'm very proud of my body, I work very hard at it, but I don't want to just be looked at solely as a sex symbol." She looked back up at me with those huge almond eyes. "Does that make sense, do you know what I mean?" My reply was swift. "I know exactly what you go through, Myra. I get tired of being viewed as a sex symbol myself sometimes." She put a hand over her thin, lipsticked lips to stifle a laugh, but then she studied my face to see that I was being serious. Or, at least, appearing to be. I sighed the forlorn sigh of a sad, unappreciated artist. "You see, Myra, and maybe you've noticed, I'm very well-endowed, and well...." I looked up to see her eyes darting between my own eyes and my lap, flicking back and forth, one to the other, not focusing on either, not knowing where to look. It was working. My chest heaved mournfully again, and I gave her my best puppy-dog eyes. "Well, in a few companies I've worked for in the past, I made the mistake of dating a few of my co-workers, uh, and once word got around about my, um, size..." I paused for dramatic emphasis. "I sometimes felt like I was viewed likewise, as just a piece of meat." Myra licked her lips involuntarily, and she squirmed in her seat, her eyes continuing to flutter back and forth between my face and my rising cock, now tenting in my trousers. I couldn't help but notice that Myra was spending more time focusing on my lap now. Suddenly, the moderator's voice brought us back to our task. "Ms. McIntyre, Mr. Walters, please tell us about your example." Myra's cute face was the color of a Texas Rangers ball cap, and she stammered, trying to gain some composure, so I stood up and began an impromptu diatribe. "Certainly. We were discussing the pros and cons of first impressions when making sales presentations, and how best to use them in your favor, or learning how to overcome objections." Myra heaved an audible sigh of relief, and the group quickly chimed in with some trivial examples of their own, effectively letting us off the hook. As the class members' attention was diverted away from us, Myra reached under the table and rubbed my knee lightheartedly. "You're an evil, evil man," she smiled. I pretended like I ignored her comment, keeping my attention riveted on the front of the class, but grinned at her from the corner of my mouth. 'Oh, you have no idea', I thought to myself. At the conclusion of the day at five o'clock sharp, I made it a point to scurry up to the front of the class and engaged in some frivolous, prolonged conversation with the teacher, just to see if Myra would linger behind and wait for me. She did. I walked out into the lobby, seemingly oblivious that Myra was approaching me from behind. "John," she called. I kept on striding to the door, acting like I couldn't hear her. "JOHN," she said, more forcefully, assuring that I couldn't help but to heed her voice this time. I turned, feigning surprise that she was still in the lobby. She looked at me a tad apprehensively, almost back on her heels now. "Where are you rushing off to, do you have a big date or something?" She stood there and rocked that magnificent specimen of female physique back and forth on her sandalled heels. I glanced at my watch as if I had an urgent appointment, then lightened my face in a grin. "A date?" I looked at her to gauge her reaction. My approach was proving very successful, her eyes radiated a barely-concealed lust from the unheard-of possibility of being blown off. Her taut nipples now poked unwittingly from beneath her tight, cranberry-colored blouse, as if the nipples themselves were two tiny cranberries. "No, I wish I had a date," I laughed. She crossed her arms over her chest, seemingly aware of the effect her body was having, betraying her. She clearly wasn't used to doing the chasing. "Where are you going, aren't you staying at the hotel here?" My answer was truthful. "No, nope, I'm staying way up in Daytona Beach, at least for tonight." Daytona Beach was a good forty-five minute drive up Interstate 4. "See, when I booked my hotel for tonight, I didn't really pay much notice how far away it was, but it's too late to cancel for tonight." She tapped her foot on the lobby carpet and bit her lower lip unconsciously in a subtle display of frustration. Was the frustration sexual? "Well, um, can you stick around for a drink or something?" She twirled a finger around her silky auburn hair, and when she moved her hand, it caused her fabulous nipples to again be on display, with full-headlights on. Bingo, I thought. "Ya know, I'd love to, Myra, but, see, I, um, told a friend I hadn't seen in a while that I'd let her take me out to dinner tonight in Daytona." I saw Myra wince ever so slightly when she heard the word 'her'. I had let Myra know that she was being rebuffed, ever so politely, for another woman, who was interested enough to want to take ME out to dinner. Myra didn't have to know that this woman didn't exist, I kept that my little secret for now. Truth was, I wanted to get to Daytona, see the NASCAR track, ride my own car on the beach, take in a few greyhound races, and get a good night's sleep. Alone. So I could fuck Myra silly tomorrow night. Before I turned to go, I could see the disappointment etched in Myra's pretty face. Against all odds, this was working like a charm, except if anything, I was having second thoughts as to the wisdom of this master plan of playing hard to get. Myra looked as if she might be ripe to go tonight. But, I resolutely stuck to the execution of Plan A, dropping the next seed for thought. "But, hey, I'll tell ya what, Myra, I haven't made any reservations for a hotel for tomorrow night yet, so why don't I book a room here and I'll let you take me out to dinner tomorrow?" I grinned at her with my best Beaver Cleaver boyishness to let her know that I wasn't THAT arrogant as to expect her to really take me out to dinner. Myra, though, jumped on the suggestion almost too willingly. "That sounds great! It's a deal," she said, and then quickly, seemingly cognizant of her unbridled, school-girl-like enthusiasm, she harnessed back her zeal a notch, then asked, in a much huskier tone, "Um, is there anything in particular you like to eat?" She let the double-entendre hang in the air like a hot air balloon. This time, I let my eyes scan her incredible torso without any pretense of ambivalence. Her legs parted almost imperceptibly, and her finger tangled in her hair with the heated fervor of a majorette twirling her baton. I envisioned that same finger dipping deep into her cunt frequently tonight, masturbating herself into a frenzy at this unaccustomed position of being pussy-teased. Our eyes blazed into the others. "Oh, there's definitely something that is my favorite thing to eat, yes." My cock jumped up in my pants. I could almost hear it asking me, "Boss, tell me again WHY we're not tapping this tonight?" But I continued, nonplussed, watching Myra's nipples get harder, in tandem to my dick. "So, why don't we just find a quiet, little place where we can share some things we both really like to eat?" She gave me the same wink and thumbs-up gesture that had sealed our ill-fated attempt at lunch earlier today. "Can't wait," she said, her voice two octaves lower than it had been all day. Then, she issued me a health advisory, which I appreciated. "Don't stay up too late with your 'friend' tonight." She curled two fingers of each hand into a quote-endquote symbol over the word 'friend'. Dale Carnegie Course "You might want to save your energy. Ya know, for class." I winked back, letting her know I was in on the joke, and tendered a suggestion of my own. "Oh, and, Myra, will you do me a favor tomorrow?" She nodded her intent to comply. I glanced down at her sensational legs, imagining them wrapped around my neck in about twenty-four hours, my face buried between them. "Wear something that shows a little more leg tomorrow, will ya?" The same finger that had been making curlicues in her locks trailed down to the deep cavern between her cleavage. "Oh, I might have to go shopping tonight now, John, seeing as I don't have a date like some people." "And I think I'll come up with an outfit or two that will show just the perfect amount of leg for a quiet, little dinner date." "So come hungry." I jerked off while driving east to Daytona on Interstate 4, but just the once, and was sound asleep by nine-thirty. I had a dinner date in Lake Mary tomorrow. I woke at 4 a.m after a very fitful night of semi-slumber at best. I was beginning to harbor serious doubts about the wisdom of my Plan A, wondering if I had not gone the pussy-teasing route, would I be fucking Myra at this very moment? I mean, talk about 'time is of the essence'. I had a flight back to Philly in about thirty-eight hours, and the chances were very good that I would never see her again. Maybe, just maybe it wasn't the brightest idea that I played hard to get, especially when all signals were that I had a free 'Get Into Myra Free' card. Or, was it something else, something even more frightening to the fragile ego? Could it be that I WAS indeed intimidated by Myra and her beauty, most specifically that wet-dream-like hard body of hers? Was my first impression accurate; did I fear that I couldn't handle such a fit firecat in the sack, that my sexual performance would be critiqued by a critical one-woman audience, that my own slight love handles would repel the sleek, fitness model? Nah, that wasn't it. Not that this revelation will shock anybody, but men are so one-dimensional and shallow. If they get even the slightest sniff at a remote chance to bed a fitness model, they're probably going to mortgage their 401K. Women, on the other hand, are so much more cerebral. Men should sincerely take lessons, and pay dearly for them. If you can enter and intrigue and captivate and arouse their minds, and if you don't fuck it up and aren't morbidly obese or look like Freddie Kreuger on a bad manicure day, well, truth is you might just get to play WAY over your head. What's that football analogy? It's like a punter out-kicking his coverage. Oh, and it also helps immensely if you have let them know, and can back it up at game time when it counts, that you have a really big dick. It's like chicken soup, it can't hurt! I looked down at my half-erect cock and admired its God-given girth, and thought about all of the women that had expressed a combination of anxiety and anticipation when they first got their eyes on my thick, eight-and-a-half-inch barbell, surrounded by two overly-sized testicles that served as the accompanying free weights, and decided it was time, right now, to let Myra have an opportunity to have a pre-dawn workout. I showered hastily, putting on only a loose pair of shorts and a t-shirt, picked up the hotel bill envelope that had already been slipped under my door, and headed back west on Interstate 4 in the darkness, making it back to Lake Mary in about 40 minutes, arriving at the Hilton Garden at just past five-fifteen. The sky was still pitch-black, with only a sliver of the moon hanging low in the light fog that seems to cover Central Florida as a daily early morning occurrence. I pulled my rental car around to the side of the hotel's parking lot that was pretty much obscured from any outside visibility by an eight-foot-high row of shrubs and a line of cypress and oak trees covered in Spanish Moss, and flipped the lid of my cell phone and dialed the hotel's number, reaching the main desk. "Good Morning," answered a voice that was far too cheery for barely past five a.m. "Thank you for calling the Hilton Garden Inn, how may I direct your call?" "Myra McIntyre's room, please." After a short pause, the phone rang six times, and I began to have exponential trepidation with each ring after the third. Maybe this wasn't the best idea; maybe I had misread her signals; maybe she was still asleep; maybe I should just...... "Hail-low?" came Myra's unmistakable drawl, not sounding the least bit sleepy. I tried to sound as confident as I could, thankful that she couldn't see my trembling hands. My heart raced as I whispered, for some reason. It wasn't like anyone could hear me. "Mornin', Myra, this is your wake-up call!" That was really cheesy, I thought, I probably should have planned this out a bit better. I could hear her voice lower an octave, probably in irritation. Putting myself in her shoes, I guessed that I, too, would be pissed off if I received a wake-up call that hadn't been requested. "Who is this?" Beads of sweat began to form on my brow. I stammered quickly, "Myra, I'm sorry, it's John." Silence. I panicked. "John, from our seminar?" Help, my insides squealed. Her tone lightened considerably. Thank God for that. I wiped my brow and exhaled a sigh of relief as I heard what sounded like restrained glee in her voice. "John! My God, where are you? Are you in your room?" "Well, Myra, you probably aren't going to believe it when I tell you where I am. But first, did I wake you? If so, I'm sorry, I really am." She giggled that delightful giggle. Sweat on my brow was rapidly being replaced by blood rushing to my loins. "No, no," she replied. "I get up at five to do my crunches." "Crunches?" I asked. My only thought of crunches at this ungodly hour would be the kind that the cereal captain is famous for. She laughed again lightly at my phys-ed ignorance. "Sit-ups, silly. I was in the middle of my 'abs' routine. Two hundred every morning." Of course. Two hundred sit-ups at five o'clock. How absent-minded of me, I forgot to do MY two hundred push-ups this morning. Well, dammit, I'll just have to do FOUR HUNDRED tomorrow My next thought was what in the world was I thinking when I thought I could keep up with this human-dynamo fitness fanatic. Where is the pre-dawn traveling viagra salesman when you really fucking need him? Myra's voice brought me back to the reality of the present set of circumstances. "John, are you still there?" "Um, yeah, yes, Myra, I'm still here. In fact, uh, I really am HERE." I could hear her moving about in her room, not out-of-breath in the slightest. I'd have been on the defibrillator on about sit-up number forty-six. "What do you mean, you're HERE?" She hesitated, doing the math. "You mean in Daytona?" Her tone turned a bit pouty, mocking me. "So, how was your hot date? Did you never go to sleep?" I was waving my hands in dismissal of that gross prevarication, though she couldn't see me. "Um, there was no date for me, Myra. It, uh, it didn't work out that way, change of plans, we never got together. And...." I was finally getting to the point, albeit in a clumsy way. "Well, that's why I'm HERE. In the parking lot. Of your hotel. In my car. Outside. Ya know, the Hilton Garden." Nothing on the other end. "Um, in Lake Mary?" My voice trailed off now, sheepishly. I expected security to arrive at any moment. I could hear her inhale, her voice shushed a bit, almost whispering herself now. And was it my imagination, or did she sound the slightest bit excited? "You're shittin' me? You're here? Outside?" I imagined her peeling back the drape to take a peek. "Where?" "Um, well, I'm not sure exactly. Um, hold on." I looked through a slight opening in the row of tall shrubs, and could make out the neon lights on the facade of the Friday's where we had our group lunch earlier today. Um, yesterday. Whatever. "Um, I'm on the side of the hotel where that Friday's is. Hey, uh, if you don't mind me asking, seeing as I'm so close and everything, uh, what room are you in?" I heard her laugh softly. She was catching on to my plan now, it seemed, and she liked it. Her voice became huskier. I already liked it when her voice became huskier. "Two-oh-eight. Looks like I'm on the other side of the building from where you are." She paused, ever so slightly, throwing out the first ball of the game, so to speak. "But we can solve that little problem. Why don't you come on up?" The bait had been cast, and against all odds, Myra was gobbling it up. My dick was now so distended I could almost use it to steer the wheel by itself. My own speech lowered into my best bedroom voice, if indeed I had such a verbal weapon in my arsenal. I always thought that whenever I tried to talk low and sexy, I sounded a bit like the Papa character in the cartoon series, the Berenstain bears. Ya know, the mumbler? More times than not, during pillow talk in the throes of sex, the woman usually lifted up her head and cupped her ears and semi-yelled, "WHAT? What did you say?" Barry White, I was most definitely not. But undaunted, I carried on. "Nope, no, I have a better idea, at least for now. Why don't go open your drapes a tad and I'll pull my car around to the other side. OK? I'll blink my lights when I can see you." Myra was with the program now one-hundred-and-ten percent. It wasn't going to be necessary to distribute a course outline. "Mmmm, sexy. That's hot. Like I told you earlier today, you're an evil, evil man. Let me turn a light on, that will help." She continued with a good idea of her own, a willing co-conspirator, my partner in crime now. "But wait just a minute. Give me your number and then hang up so I can call you on my own cell phone. I wanna be able to move around." My phone rang as I turned the corner, parking lights on only, and I saw her almost immediately, one level up, the second window in from the end. I blinked the lights to my car in acknowledgement and she flickered the lights in her room. I found a parking space almost directy beneath her window, the proverbial front-row seat. Game on. She had on a white midriff blouse, and even from my distance, I could see the nipples poking through the cotton material as if they could cut the plate-glass of the window. Below the waist, she wore a pair of tight midnight-black spandex short-shorts that revealed a prominent camel-toe. Her abs were impossibly tight, her waistline whittled, her shoulders were perfectly rounded off with muscular mushroom caps, her teeth were bright white with a smile exuding unbreakable confidence, her hair was shiny, and she stood confidently in the window upon her strong legs with sexy sweeping quads. She was poised, polished and ravishing with that athletic yet compact build. She was the epitome of health, wellness, and fitness. She was a 'Fitness Model', the picture of strength and beauty that so many women strive to attain. And she was going to masturbate for me. And we both knew it. Her voice came through the line, and it was especially erotic as I could watch her mouth move through the window at the same time as I heard her voice. It was like Skype. Only much fucking better. "Am I dressed appropriately for the occasion?" I freed my already wildly twitching cock from its snug confines in my shorts, breathing a deep sign of comfort as it unraveled. "You're off to a good start." I began to gently stroke my mast to its full length. "Your body is simply amazing, you know that, don't you?" Myra began to sway her hips back and forth seductively to her audience of one, the phone tucked under one ear. "Mmmmm. And here if you didn't have a hot date of your own, which you didn't have after all, we could have started this show ten hours ago." She moved her body to the right, next to a small circular, working table, and reached to place her phone on it. "Hold on, I'm gonna put you on speaker, I want free access with my hands." "Good thinking," I encouraged her creativity. "Aah, that's much better," she moaned, both hands freely moving over he taut, tanned tummy now. "Can you hear me OK?" "Oh, yes. Better yet, though, I can see you perfectly." My dick flip-flopped in my lap like a freshly caught tuna on deck of a vessel. "Is your cock out?" Myra asked in a low, growling guttural groan, her voice unrecognizable from only a few minutes ago, sounding as if it were possessed by a demon. She began to raise one hand to run it over her impossibly firm breasts through the thin shirt, while the other snaked down between her thighs, grazing over the spandex workout shorts, teasingly circumventing Ground Zero for the time being.. "I've been playing with myself all freakin' night, imagining what your cock must look like." I hissed through the line, saying the words she wanted to hear. "Yes, my cock is out. And it's angry, and long, and thick, watching you. Wanting you." She moaned as I watched her begin to pull on her erect nipple. "Do you want it? My cock?" Her tiny, thin mouth opened in a "O" and I heard and saw her gasp as she began to rub her pussy over her shorts. "Yay-ess." My dick got even harder, if feasible. I felt like I had a Lincoln Log in my fist. "Take your shirt off and rub those beautiful tits". I was assuming the role of both director and choreographer for our show. She smiled lustfully, and even through the distance I could see her eyes flash with excitement. She slowly peeled the blouse over her head, and whirled it around over her arms for just a few seconds before tossing it to the carpet. She stood before me topless now, and Myra began to cup both beautiful globes in her small palms, her pink nipples extending like the tips of two coral-hued Crayola crayons. "Mmmm," I urged her on, with my own voice. "Sensational." I watched her head lean back in pleasure as her hips began to rock back and forth in a more animated dance now as she sexily caressed her perfectly-shaped mounds. " You love doing this, showing off your body, don't you?" She didn't reply this time, I could only hear pants coming through the receiver. "Touch your pussy," I ordered. Myra moaned louder. "Play with yourself." She complied, her right hand lowering to the waistband of her shorts, and her fingers disappeared into the abyss, and I could see the outline of her digits begin to explore her swollen folds under the skin-tight shorts. "That's it, Myra, so fucking hot you are. How wet are you?" She grinned, raising her one hand from her nipples and bringing it to her neck in a soft pet. Her other hand continued its squirming exploration of her cunt. "Like a West Texas gully-washer. Have a visual?" I smiled at the entire package. watching her, hearing her, seeing how turned on she was. Yet, I wanted to continue to control the pace. I wanted a long fuse on this Longhorn-state firecracker before she exploded. "Not yet, not a full one." I hesitated, pausing for dramatic effect, until she peered out the window into the darkness, the sky lightening just a bit in the distant east horizon. Her glance outward to seek further instruction was my cue. "Take your shorts off. I want to see your pussy, Myra." She grunted in one loud, continuous "unnnnnggggghhhhhhhh" as she slid the shorts, like a second skin, down her muscular thighs. She kicked them off of her ankles, raised them to her face, and brought the crotch of her shorts to her lips, her tongue extracting out from her mouth, and she licked the material of the spandex. "I taste sooooo sweet," she purred into the phone with that husky drawl standing naked before me now, savoring her nectars. She lifted one finger from her pussy and held it in the air, curling it, and I could see the moisture on her fingertip, like the early-morning dew on a jasmine. At that point, I had to release my frantic grip on my dick, lest there be a gully-washer of cum splashing against my interior windshield. Just then, I heard a roar in the parking lot around the corner, and startled, I jumped up in my seat, my dick damn near smashing against the steering wheel. Try to explain that injury to the paramedics. A trash truck rumbled into the corner of the lot to pick up the contents of the compactor, just a few feet from my car, serving to partially obscure my view of Myra's window. "Fuck, just my luck," I mumbled, forgetting temporarily that Myra was still on the other end and could hear me. I looked to my right, and I could see the driver peering up towards the building, into Myra's window, his day having just gotten exceedingly more interesting. The driver's mouth opened and his jaw dropped down in disbelief, his eyes parked onto the vision of Myra's naked form like a heat-seeking. He was older, perhaps sixty, and a small stream of spittle ran down his chin, dripping from the corner of his mouth, which also held a dangling cigarette. "Um, Myra, that man can see you now, much better than I can," I stammered into the phone, issuing fair warning that this was not a one-man audience anymore. I opened the door and hopped out of my car, surprising the garbage truck driver, whose eyes darted between me and Myra's window, trying to assess the situation. Meanwhile, the ignored compactor clanged against the roof of the truck with a thunderous "BANG", suspended in mid-air as the driver had not maneuvered the controls to manipulate the descent into the cab of his vehicle that stored the trash. I could see Myra clearly once again from my vantage point outside of the car now, and she had a small smirk on her face, nonplussed and apparently amused at the chaos transpiring beneath her window. "Well, then , I think it's high time you got your butt up here so you can keep your front-row seat, John." My dick and I liked that idea. I could tell by the way he nodded at me as he heard her voice and saw her continue to display herself to the truck driver and me. "I'm gonna prop the door open by the dead bolt so you can enter. Again, its room two-oh-eight." As if I'd forgotten. "I'll be the girl leaning spread-eagled over this table, if you can't recognize me." "Let's give this nice ole driver a team show, shall we?" Usain Bolt himself could not have made it through the lobby, up the steps and to her room any faster. True to her word, the door was propped open, and as I opened it, slowly for some unknown reason, I saw the tightest ass in the world bent over the round table, with Myra's salmon-colored swollen labia peeking out between her ass cheeks, one finger eased into her dripping cunt. "Lick me or fuck me?" She tendered me a choice that had no incorrect answer. But she gave me a hint as she looked backwards over her shoulder at me. "I need to see that cock of yours. Now." My shorts lowered to the floor as I stroked my long, thick shaft, pre-cum oozing from the purple mushroom head. Her eyes widened in glee. "That answers that question. Oh, what a fucking cock." She took her full hand now, and opened her cunt to me like a Christmas-morning present in a wet box, the other hand bracing herself over the table. "Fuck me," Myra demanded. I walked towards my target, big dick in hand, and Myra's eyes pierced into my own as she drawled, spreading her legs even wider in anticipation of the missile landing. "I've always wanted to fuck to an audience." Just the tip of my dick and two inches or so slid into her humid channel, but that was all it took for me to know that I had entered the tightest, hottest, wettest slit that I had ever felt. She came with the force of a flooded Brazos River within seconds, her wails echoing through the hotel room, and I could only imagine the fury with which our lucky driver friend was assaulting his cock in the parking lot below. I knew well enough to thrust slowly, her vise-like cunt was not going to accept my full length all at once. Not yet anyway. Her face flushed, Myra intuitively knew this as well, as she gasped at me, her cunt churning on my shaft to entice entry. "My pussy is only about eight inches deep, so I'm not sure this will fit all the way." Dale Carnegie Course She grunted, juices pouring out of her steaming slit now, the lubrication serving to expedite full impalement. "But I'm gonna try." I withdrew, readying for the next insertion, grasping my eight-and-a-half inch rod tight in my grip. "Irresistible force meets immovable object," I whispered to Myra, entering her slowly once again, kicking her legs together tightly so that I could penetrate her more deeply from a different angle, this time so that my cock lurched upward, rubbing against her upper vaginal wall, my dick ultimately reaching her spongy g-spot. She shuddered and nearly collapsed onto the table with a violent orgasm, this one even more prolonged and animated than the first. I pumped eight or nine thick loads of semen into Myra's hot Texas cunt, each one accompanied by a shriek of unadulterated pleasure from Myra, who came for the third time. Brought back from semi-consciousness by the honking of a horn outside, we looked out the window to see that not only was the driver of the truck outside applauding in appreciation, but there was a pretty middle-aged woman in running attire gazing at the window from the small patch of grass next to the shrubbery. She, too, bore witness to our semi-public 'sexcapade', and her ample chest heaved in arousal. Myra propped herself up on one elbow and gave the spectators another one of her patented thumbs-up. She turned to me, her sculpted torso covered in perspiration and my cum, and kissed me, for the first time. "Let's see how many people we can fuck in front of during this last-day-and-a-half while we're here, shall we?" "Let's make Dale Carnegie proud of our ability to 'Win Friends and Influence People', sound like a plan?" She walked towards the bathroom, my eyes admiring that incredible, kickboxing ass that I so wanted to explore next. "Let's take a shower. Fuck my crunches, for now, they can wait." She licked her lips. "I want to suck that cock for my next morning workout. C'mon." Dalene Kurtis Given how everything turned out I'd like to take credit for being an expert, or at least a really smart and careful planner. But the fact is everything was just because of one quick decision, an impulse to grab, and I took it. Actually, I am a careful planner; my work calls for me to be real smart and real cautious. If you meet me in my work, chances are you are in big trouble or a pretty bad guy, and chances are I'll probably be the last person you meet. I was on this one job, I had to wait at a mall, if I got the call some guy was going to come out of Victoria's Secret and find himself tossed in the back of a van and driven away for good. The van was completely clean and all the gear was in there. It was strategically parked near the guy's car. So I was at a newsstand staking out the lingerie shop across the way. I picked up a Playboy magazine and was flipping through it. It was right after 9/11 and my head was not screwed on straight. I opened the magazine and the most brilliant smile beamed up at me. Just at that second my cell vibrated. I opened it without saying a word. "Bob went home." the voice on the other end said. "Great." My reply was terse and quiet. That was it; the job was off, but the way I work, I got paid full freight anyway. I felt good actually, pleased that the job was off and I had quite a tidy sum in my bank account. Then SHE walked out of Victoria's Secret. The girl in the magazine. She had on a white tee shirt real tight and sleeveless, a watchacallit, a wifebeater. Her arms and shoulders were bare and her skin looked smooth like ice cream. The skirt was short; her ass rolled nicely under the black fabric and her long, muscular legs stretched out in quite a display as she walked. Her hair was almost icy blonde and she had green sparkling eyes. I guess it was fate, I mean the way everything came together: the magazine, the call, the girl....and the gear in the van. I just moved without thinking, following her out of the store and out of the mall. I had nothing on my mind except watching the wiggle of that sweet ass; I wasn't thinking of pulling a job or anything. So fate really kicked in and made things happen. I just followed her, like I said-- digging on the way her ass moved, you know. Damn if she didn't just stop right there between the panel door to my van and another car. She pulled out her cell phone and from the way she dialed once then dialed in a code I knew she was checking her voice mail. Like I said, it was fate. I got in the rear, opening the door nice and quiet like and moving real stealthily through the van. I slid open the panel door with one arm and reached out and scooped up the blonde with the other hand. I never had more than one foot and one hand out the door. My arm just swooped around her waist and I flipped her up and in, then reversed the direction of the panel door; it slammed closed before she even hit the floor. The bang of the door covered her first scream and I landed on top of her, knocking out her breath. Her mouth was open to shriek but the ball gag popped right in. The van was soundproof and the gag is just for intimidation. For a job like this I like the plastic cuffs but I file them down so their smooth and don't leave marks. She didn't even realize she was cuffed until I already pulled them closed. I was moving fast. Her hands were in front of her so I pushed my arm under her knees and with my other arm reached around so I could lock my hands together. Her hands were pinned between her thighs and her belly. Her legs could kick into the air but that was just about all she could do. I was more than a foot taller and I'm guessing twice her weight. Pretty much from the second my arm reached out for her she was under my power. And already my cock was grooving on the way her ass wiggled in my lap and she screamed through the gag and struggled to get away. "Man," I said, loud enough for her to hear, "I am going to enjoy this." That froze her. She fixed those bright green eyes on me. I could see a million ideas racing through that pretty head. She was hoping for escape, imagining the worse, and wondering, OK dreading, what I was gonna do next. It's a look I see a lot, usually just before my victim's lights go out. I was feeling really good having that luscious body in my arms, but I was feeling a little strange too. I mean I've had to, in my line of work, grab women sometimes, but they were usually just so much meat to me. Rich bitches that husbands wanted disappeared or convinced of whatever. Some made it home; some didn't. This babe felt so good in my arms; her body was firm but smooth and soft in all the right places. My dick was twitching up against that fine, muscular ass and I knew I just had to fuck this girl. I unlocked my hands and her legs dropped down in front of her real slow. She kept those green eyes on me. She knew the score. My hand slipped between her thighs and she clamped her legs like a vise. Fat chance she had stopping me though. I just plowed right in and dug two fingers into that juice pussy. I chuckled; girl comes out of Victoria's Secret and she doesn't even have panties on. I twirled my fingers around and got her good and wet. She just kept her body real stiff and still. I figured she knew what to do. "OK, babe, you're being a good girl. I like that, so let's make this nice and easy for both of us. I'm gonna take this gag off and you're gonna be real cool, you're gonna be real sweet." I slipped the gag off and she took a couple of deep panting breaths. Everybody does that, like the gag is choking or something. Hey, she could breathe through her nose. Anyway, I grabbed her hair and pulled her head back and kissed her. Her mouth tasted like honey. She was scared but her tongue knew exactly what I wanted. I kept hold of her hair and shoved her face down into my crotch. With my other hand I unzipped and got my Johnson out. Damn if she didn't just open wide and gulp it down. Her head was bobbing up and down and she was sucking and slurping like crazy, like this was her last meal or something. When I came she swallowed and licked her lips. If her hands weren't cuffed she would have rubbed her belly in satisfaction. OK, I figured, she's good for the main event. I couldn't wait to fuck that pussy. It was shaved all smooth and my fingers still burned from the heat. I pulled out a switchblade and she yelped, but I cut the cuffs and had her on her back in a second. Just to make sure, I clamped one of her arms to a shackle bolted into the floor. She shot her legs up in the air and spread them wide. My dick jumped into her like a dog on a cat. Fuck, she was good. She was real loose and wet as I popped in, but right away her cunt tightened around me like a glove and she cinched and loosened the whole time I was screwing her. Her legs locked around me tight and her one free hand got under my shirt and she was scratching my back like a wild cat. Her tongue and her teeth ripped apart my ears and my face and my neck. She came as soon as I plunged into her but she kept thrusting up into me. I shot a wad into her and she went berserk, thrashing and kicking and still she kept going, thrusting up into me. The van's of course rigged so the suspension hides any movement inside. I came into her and then came again; she came against me, then came again. Then she said something that made me freeze. I was shooting a load into her and she was wriggling that fine ass of hers like she was milking my dick. Her mouth was on my ear and she whispered, "I love you, Frank." How the fuck did she know my name was Frank? I got real slow and quiet and started pumping slow and steady. I gotta admit I was figuring how to finish her off in more ways then one. She got quiet too, rocking against me and letting loose with a series of slow gentle orgasms. My dick was just about played and she was dreamily twisting her fingers in my hair as the last of my wads filled her up. We just lay there still for a second, and I was about to make a move that was gonna change the mood in a bad way. She was still snuggling nice and sweet breathing into my ear. I got my arm around her head so all I'd have to do was shift my weight to fix her. "I've wanted you to do me like this ever since high school." Then she giggled. High school!!???!!! Then it hit me; I'm seeing her with long dark hair, a skinny little kid, trying to hang out with the bad boys smoking behind the school. She's little Dalene Kurtis from Bakersfield High. That's what I mean about fate. Jeez, who would have figured all this coming together. "So how did you find me? And how did you know about playing this game with me?" She laughed again. She just looked so sweet and sexy, grinning up like me like that. My whole body relaxed and I felt great. I laughed as I undid the shackle. "Well, baby. It's my job to be prepared." I pulled her on top of me and she bounced up and down on my dick like a monkey. She looked so happy with her tits spinning and her hair flying all over the place. We fucked in that van for a couple of hours, then we went to a motel and fucked some more. A couple of days later I was out at the mansion but I didn't dig it much. That hump, the publisher, whatever? I could kill him. But me and Dalene. Well, let's just say if you ever bump into her you better be nice. There's no telling who might be around.