1 comments/ 20006 views/ 2 favorites The Fix By: bradley_stoke The light from the street lamps shone on the dark puddles on the damp pavement. A fine drizzle continued to fall, dampening Martin’s spectacles as he strode along the forbidding streets. It wasn’t really the night for a stroll. And this wasn’t a part of town where a man would be wandering for the sights or the restful ambience. But Martin was a man on a mission. And this was the best part of town to be. He wasn’t alone. Resting by lamp posts, or in the doorways of shuttered shops, or in the shadow of hedges, could be seen the occasional silhouette of women, dressed provocatively, frequently smoking, and eyeing him with rather less reserve than that which he eyed them. Martin shivered. Did he have to? he wondered. But then, of course, why else would anyone choose to come out to this part of town? In the nearly fifty years of his life, the usual pleasures of marriage or children had somehow eluded him. He had tried. God! He’d tried! But it just hadn’t been his destiny. Women just didn’t take to him somehow. And the chances were getting fewer, as his hair thinned, his paunch grew larger and his future shrank ahead of him. And it wasn’t just romance that had eluded him. In everything he did, he knew that he had under-achieved. He wasn’t one of life’s winners. He’d never got the promotions he’d wanted. At least not until so late it was a recognition of his seniority and patience than any native ability. Time and time again, he’d seen younger men leapfrog ahead of him. For them advancement, romance, marriage and respect just came naturally. But not to him. He had no exciting past to reflect on, no youthful excesses to regret, nothing in his life which he could positively identify as an achievement for which he could be the envy of others. But he was a man. And he had needs the same as any other man. And if they weren’t to come to him effortlessly through the exercise of his charm and personality, then they would have to come to him the only other way. And that was by the exchange of dollars and cents. Prostitutes had become his release. In fact, they almost become his chief hobby. The main source of pleasure in his life. Something he would plan in advance and savour the prospect. Something to reflect on after the event and inevitably about which to feel some degree of shame. But always something ultimately more satisfying and more exciting than downloading images off the Internet, poring through glossy magazines or watching women in improbable ecstasy on DVDs. The feel of real warm flesh against his own skin, his penis tugged and pulled and sucked, and then sometimes the pleasure of penetration (always a little more expensive and that much more to be cherished) as his prick was eased into the condom the girls always thoughtfully supplied and then into the warm liquid embrace of the two fleshy lower lips. He only regretted that he so rarely tasted the lips on the girls’ mouths. But that was an intimacy they always denied him. Martin strode along, his eyes darting nervously about as he evaluated the women on display. Part of him actually felt quite sorry for the girls. It couldn’t be much fun for them to be standing around in the evening drizzle, waiting for cars to slow down and pick them up. And they really weren’t dressed for the weather. The skirts were so very short, the tops just so very brief, the heels so tottering and precipitous. And the faces. Sometimes so thick with make-up that it was difficult to imagine what the actual features underneath might be like. And then Martin saw her. And he felt a slight tightening of the throat and a thump in his chest as the excitement of encounter came closer. The girl he’d had so many times before that he was almost a regular. She wasn’t the prettiest girl in the world. But none of them were really. She was skinny, with large broad feet, and a twisted mouth on a face with a sharp chin and a long pointed nose. There she was (and of course Martin had no idea what she might be called), in her long pale tights, smoking her cigarette on the street corner, her heels so high that Martin could see right through them to the pavement edge. And then she wasn’t there. A dark brown Mondeo slowed down, and in a trice she was gone. Martin sighed as her tight, if rather fatty, bum disappeared through the car door, and the last she saw of her was a glimpse of her bleached, tied-back hair through the streaks of drizzle on the passenger window. So nearly and yet not nearly enough. Disappointed, Martin paused in his steps. He almost felt like abandoning his quest altogether. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his overcoat and continued striding on. He couldn’t come this far and just turn back. Even though he knew of a nearby bar where he could at least drown his sorrows. “Are you looking for something?” he suddenly heard a woman’s voice break into his reverie. He turned his head to see the dark shadowy figure of a thin woman, dressed in black with long unkempt black hair, just by a telephone pole. He smiled more from politeness than anything else. “Yes,” he heard himself mouth as he looked at her pale emaciated face. She didn’t look like she’d eaten for a long time. She had virtually no fat obscuring her high cheek-bones and her perpetually startled gaze. “How much?” The girl hesitated. “Twenty dollars,” she announced at length. “For what?” She shrugged her shoulders. “A fuck,” she decided noncommittally. A fuck! That was cheap. What was the catch? He studied her face. It was so ill-looking. She must be a junky, Martin decided. Out for a fix. She must be desperate. But twenty dollars! He couldn’t turn down an offer like that. “Yeah! That sounds fine!” he decided. “Where?” “My place,” she said, emerging from the shadows in black tights which emphasised the bony knees which punctuated her slim legs, and the tiny skirt beneath the flimsy high-collared black blouse. She obviously didn’t feel the cold. “Follow me.” Martin obeyed her command, and followed her along some ill-lit lanes toward a large dilapidated apartment block, which she entered. His steps followed her steps as she ascended the stairs in the flickering bulb-light, taking the advantage to examine the girl’s strangely old-fashioned black high-heeled shoes and the bony contours of her arse. She finally arrived at a door on whatever floor Martin had lost count, opened it with a key and let him in. Martin had been in girls’ flats before, and he was used to their spartan functionality. But this one was almost too minimal in content. In the single room of the apartment there was nothing except a mattress, bare of even sheets, on the stained bare dark floor-boards illuminated by the inadequate aura of a single low wattage light-bulb. Thick dark curtains hid all evidence of the street outside. And they weren’t alone. Slumped in the corner, staring vacantly in front of her, was another girl, and one, despite the chill in the air in an apartment that didn’t even have the luxury of heating, who wore no clothes at all. Fuck! These junkies! They have no standards or decorum at all. And like the girl who’d picked him up, she was painfully thin and pale. In fact there seemed to be an unhealthy blue pallour about her. Her scrawny breasts hung on her stomachless chest, and her feet were stretched in front of her, not attempting to obscure the long dark hairs of her crotch. There was no ceremony, but that was usual. Martin removed his clothes to reveal his paunchy waist, his slim arms and legs, and stood in the room in just his socks and spectacles. At least there was no mirror by which Martin could compare his ageing frame with his fondly held self-image of a somewhat younger man. With even less ceremony, the girl pulled off her own clothes, leaving them in a black heap on the bare floorboards. Without her clothes, she was exactly like her slumped friend. Pale, thin and ill-looking. Her large black eyes shone darkly from beneath her brow, not appearing to care about or even recognise Martin’s existence. And then she lay down on the bare mattress, buttocks sinking into its worn springs, her legs wide open and a shocking black crotch which Martin knew was soon to be all his. “Now?” he asked uncertainly. She nodded, with a fixed stare expressing neither emotion nor meaning. Not exactly the warmest welcome that Martin had ever had. But at twenty dollars. Well, you couldn’t complain. He bent his knees down onto the dark-stained mattress, feeling the well-worn springs flag under the weight of his hairy knees. At least his penis was awake. It wasn’t always so well-behaved. Sometimes it needed a bit of coaxing. Sometimes a lot of coaxing. There were the occasions when even after an embarrassed ten minutes of fellatio, he’d had to admit defeat, but still be as much out of pocket as if it had been fully erect. But today it was fully erect, a full five inches of fat, throbbing flesh, its glans pushed beyond the confines of the foreskin, ready to take possession of the pale girl’s cunt. And then he was on top of her, his hands around her white angular shoulders, his chin in her hair and the hairs of his chest brushing onto the small empty breasts, with their long dark pink nipples. Her skin was so cold. Colder than he believed flesh and blood could ever be. The drugs these girls take. What do they do to you! He carefully eased his penis into the condom he’d brought. Uncharacteristically, this girl didn’t seem to care for her health even in that department. But Martin was cautious. He had no intention of catching anything. And he’d heard that junkies were the ones most likely to carry all sorts of sexually transmitted diseases. Even the dreaded AIDS. That was one illness he could do well without. The condom was all that kept his prick warm as it thrust deep into the girl’s cunt, who continued to stare blankly at the ceiling as he thrust away, not even pretending to enjoy his passion. But in a strange way, this lack of emotional attachment was quite arousing in him, as his fleshy stomach pounded against the girl’s sharp hips and the hairs of her vagina tangled in the hairs of his groin. In. Out. Back. Forth. Push. Push. And then, unexpectedly, a cold hand on his shoulder. He turned round to see that the other girl was there, not smiling, but quite clearly with intent. She ran her cold fingers down his chest, and then impulsively grabbed his prick. She pulled it out of the first girl’s cunt, and manoeuvred it towards her own. And then, it was inside her, as she lay by the side of her friend, who at last came to life. The two girls wrapped their arms around each other, brushing their heads together, while Martin’s bursting erect penis transferred its attention inside the second girl’s cunt, thrusting with an excitement he’d hardly ever experienced before. Two girls! And only twenty dollars. He didn’t care whether he had to pay more. He’d so often masturbated over the fantasy of having sex with more than one woman at the same time. And now it was happening! The first girl eased the condom off his erect prick and took it between her pale lips, her sharp teeth closing gently onto its base, while the other girl nuzzled around his neck. Fuck! This was paradise. And then a sudden sharp pain. And a hiss. What the fuck! And a warm liquid on his face. And it wasn’t semen. He grimaced in horror as he realised that it was blood. And his horror sharpened as he realised it was his own. And then a sharp agonising pain in his prick as the first girl tightened her bite. And it was the horror of seeing his penis pulled from his groin and gripped in the long fang-like canines of the girl he’d met less than half an hour before in the street that caused the blood to rush from his face and his consciousness to slip. In his last few moments, he was vaguely aware of two sharp-toothed women, blood streaming from the corners of their lips, take chunks of flesh out from his stomach, his face, his neck, while what blood wasn’t taken into their mouths to feed their addiction sprayed onto the floor and mattress to join the congealed scabs of previous victims. The Fix Cynthia sat uneasily in one of the plush chairs, in the waiting area, just off of the hotel lobby. She fingered the envelope in her hand – the one that had been left for her at the desk. She smiled to herself as she examined her name neatly printed in Chad's handwriting. Today would go well – he knew the drill. He knew her routine, and his limits. He didn't necessarily understand her preferences, but had learned it was worth his while to follow her directions. She frowned a little, when she felt the electronic pass-card, through the envelope. There was something erotic and powerful about the way a key slid into a lock. The mechanical noise it made. The flicker of worry as you turned it – "Will it work?" "Do I have the right room?" The pass-card took some of that away. Oh well, just another thing "improved" by progress. She glanced at her watch, noting it read 2:22 PM. She would not head towards the elevator until at least 2:27 – Chad was probably just getting ready, now. As she fidgeted, the glow was spreading through her body. With one of her "regulars" she was never nervous – just anxious. It was always nice to be confident that things would go smoothly. With a new "date" there was added excitement, but also – added concerns. As usual, the butterflies were dancing madly in her tummy. Her pussy grew more damp by the second. She pushed her "librarian glasses" up upon the bridge of her nose, stood up gracefully, and smoothed out her slacks. She reminded herself that she would need to change hotels again soon. Even though she was 15 miles "out of town", she was married, and didn't need anybody to notice her. Of course, she knew that she not only had her husband's "permission", but also – his encouragement. That didn't mean the rest of the community would understand, however. At 2:28 she was stepping onto the elevator. Her hair was piled up into a bun. She wore a dark, chocolate pantsuit, with a cream blouse underneath. She had heels on – not slutty, but not conservative, either. She carried a leather attaché – looking all the part of a lawyer or broker, in town on business. At precisely 2:30, the elevator stopped at the 5th floor. At 2:31, she was sliding the pass card into the lock on the door of room 548. As she stepped into the room, she found a counter and set her briefcase down, pausing a moment, so her eyes could adjust to the darkness. The room was dark, but not pitch black. The air conditioner seemed to be on "max" – it was 68 degrees, or cooler – in the room. The drapes were pulled. Several candles flickered from the spots they were assigned, around the room. From the scent in the air – the candles contained essence of Patchouli. That pungent smell, drifting on the currents generated by the AC ducts, almost made her light-headed. She could see Chad's outline on the bed. As she preferred, the bed was bare, except for the single linen sheet covering Chad. The same Chad, whose face she had never seen. His cock – just a bit bigger than average – protruded through a hole that had been cut in the sheet. It was not fully erect yet. She took a quick little breath, as she always did, at the moment she saw it. It was a raw, sexual contrast, to the plain white linens. It was pure sex. There for her – not for him, not for any other purpose. She bent down and lightly kissed the end of it. Then she scraped her nails down its length. Almost immediately, he was hard. Quickly she shed her slacks, folded them, and placed them on the chair. She took a sip from the glass of Coke and ice, that had been set out for her. Next to go were here bra and panties. Curiously, they were plain white cotton. Nothing exotic, nothing kinky. With an ice cube in her mouth, and without comment, she engulfed his cock. He grunted at the surprise. She murmured her approval as her chin met the crisp linen of the sheets. His dick popped from her mouth and she took it roughly in her hands. She was far from gentle as she slid her hand up and down its length. Chad moaned, but per the agreement, spoke no words. It was literally, the "object of her desire" – protruding grotesquely from the sheets, there was nothing else to distract her; nothing else for her to focus on. God, how she loved this – craved it in fact. She stroked it. She scratched her polished nails over its shaft, the head, and Chad's balls. He squirmed at each new touch, but uttered no sound. She took it in her mouth – at first just the end, then the entire thing. She licked it like a lollipop. She smeared the silky drops of pre-cum over her palm, and rubbed it over her nipples. Whenever she had a free hand – she put the fingers to use, on herself. They feverishly tweaked her throbbing clit. They sunk, 3 or 4 at a time, into her sopping wet pussy. She even slid her slick index finger into her ass. Her hips gyrated at every touch, while she worked his cock over. She needed it, the way an addict needs his fix. Her cunt ached to be filled. Denial, though – was part of the arousal. It was not yet time. She lavished in the moment. Here she was – soccer mom, devoted wife, upstanding member of the Community... acting like some crazed slut in a darkened hotel room. She loved having an alter-ego. Loved having this secret side that only her husband and lovers knew about. Loved having the freedom to live her sexuality the way she wanted to live it. She loved cock, loved fucking – almost to the point of obsession. Sex made up a great deal of her persona. Wanting to prolong things, but knowing Chad couldn't take the roughness for long – Cynthia slowed the pace. She took a sip of her soda, and lay on the bed next to Chad. Her fingers gently stroked him – enough to keep him aroused, but not so much as to make him cum. With her free hand, she ran an ice cube, plucked from her glass, over her body. Down the side of her neck, around her breasts, and across her tummy. She ran the cube through her pubic hair, and pushed it against her clit, while her third and fourth fingers tried to spread her lips. All the while, she gazed longingly at Chad's cock. The ice made her throb even harder. She moved the rapidly shrinking cube back up her body, and sucked it into her mouth. That hand now totally free, she went to work again, fingering herself. She writhed and bucked against her hand. Her wanting to be filled now approached desperation. Her breath was labored, and her body would not be still, for even a moment. Even Chad moaned softly – his inability to fully experience this – was almost cruel. Finally, she straddled him – facing away of course, lest he became uncovered. With her left hand she held him, while she positioned herself above. Lowering herself just a little more, she used his glistening head to part her lips. Still, nothing but his cock was exposed, through the sheets. He barely made a sound. Her clit was swollen, and she was trimmed, but not clean-shaven. Outside of the hotel rooms, she was a very conservative lady. Suddenly, she let her weight go, and impaled herself upon him. He grunted – partially in surprise, partially in pain – it was not a graceful movement. It was indicative of her need. She moaned as he was all the way inside her. She was sopping wet, and she loved how "dirty" she sounded, as she began to move her hips forward and back. Like one of those women in the movies. Her motion became more and more frantic, and her breathing became increasingly ragged, with each stroke. "God he felt good." All week long, she could barely think of anything else. Now, here she was – finally getting the relief she needed. She imagined a junkie must feel this way, upon getting a long-awaited fix... She began squeezing her breasts, kneading them. Their tempo quickened, with the "smack-smack-smack" of her ass hitting Chad's body, through the sheet – filling the room. She was panting now, like a dog. With one hand she rolled her nipple hard between her fingers. With the other, she worked her clit best she could, while fucking Chad's engorged cock. Now what she needed was his cum. She arrived at her one minute moment of weakness in these sessions – the moment when she began to beg. She begged Chad to cum inside her. Through tears of pleasure she pleaded for him to fill her. She was almost animal-like in her frenzy. Focused only on his cock inside her, and how it made her feel. Focused on the moment he would swell, and finally erupt inside of her. Her shrieks and pleas came rapid fire now – she needed his cum, and kept telling him so. She was nearing the brink of orgasm herself – she could feel it welling up inside of her. Finally, she heard him begin to moan, and his cock seemed to double in size. "Yes, please" – she begged – "Fill me! Fill me with your cum". And with that, his whole body seemed to stiffen for a moment, then spasm. Then another spasm. She felt him twitching in her. Felt the warmness spreading though her. On what felt like his second or third squirt, her own orgasms began to crash into her very being. Like a thousand, blinding, ice cream headaches, bouncing through her body as if they were pinballs. With a whimper, she collapsed, and lay down across the sheeted form beneath her. Finally, after she had showered and dressed, Chad eased himself out of the bed. The envelope on the bureau held a crisp $50 dollar bill – another mysterious part of her "scene". Harmless, though, and he could always use the cash. After all – he had the room for a whole day – he might as well watch the game, and grab some room service. Riding down in the elevator, Cynthia felt like a new woman. She imagined her husband would enjoy hearing about her escapades, later that evening. She checked her attaché for her day-planner. On the taxi ride home, she'd have to figure out her plans for next week. Hmmm. Maybe Anthony, at a new hotel – the Biltmore would be nice. The Fix Peter knocked on the door to his neighbor Liz's apartment. She had been having problems with her computer for weeks. All that time with no access to porn was starting to drive her a little stir crazy. When she mentioned her troubles to Peter, he immediately offered to take a look. Peter was generally good with his hands, had a knack for computers, and could certainly sympathize with her predicament. They had always been flirtatious with one another, but never more than that. When Liz answered the door, Peter smiled as he took in the whole picture. She was standing, framed by a window behind her, wearing a thin cotton plaid skirt which came to just above her knees. The skirt was slightly transparent against the light of the window so that Peter could just make out the outline of her legs through the thin material. On top, she wore a tight-fitting, low-cut black camisole with spaghetti shoulder straps. As far as Peter could tell, she wasn't wearing a bra. The black top matched her shoulder-length black hair and was a strong contrast to her pale skin. Liz greeted him and gave him a hug hello. "Yep, definitely no bra." Peter thought to himself as he subtly felt for a strap. Peter entered the apartment and followed Liz into her living room. As he walked behind her, he admired the way the thin skirt clung to her ass, and he wondered if she was wearing any underwear either. Maybe just a small thong. She showed him to her laptop sitting on the floor tethered to the power outlet by a short cord. After accepting the beer Liz offered, Peter sat down on the floor and got to work. Liz paced around her living room for a few minutes and then walked over to her couch and sat down. She wanted to chat, but she also wanted her computer to be fixed, so she chose not to distract Peter from his task. Liz shifted around on the couch trying to get comfortable. She finally came to rest sitting facing Peter, but sideways on the couch with her back against one arm rest and both feet up on the seat. Liz spaced out for a bit, thinking about her day and what she was planning to make for dinner. Suddenly she realized that in all her movement, her skirt had ridden up very high. In fact, she wasn't wearing any panties, and her skirt had shifted until she was almost completely exposed. Her heart skipped a beat as she looked up at Peter to see whether he had noticed. She was relieved to see that he was still sitting with his back partially to her, looking intently at the screen, apparently unaware of her near exposure. Seeing that he was still very absorbed in his task, she relaxed. Then a very dirty thought crossed her mind. Instead of fixing her skirt, she pulled it up further in front, totally exposing herself to anyone who might be looking. Peter's back was still turned. With her eyes on Peter, she drew her knees up and put her elbows on her upraised knees. She began gently stroking her left breast with the back of her right hand. She grabbed the nipple between her knuckles and gave it a little pinch, causing her to let out a slight gasp. Peter still didn't react and continued looking at the computer. Liz began to wonder how he could possibly stay so focused. She moved her right hand to her right breast and reached up with her left hand to grab the left. She continued softly stroking nipples between the thumb and first finger of each hand. She loved playing with tits, especially her own. She continued alternately stroking and pinching her nipples until they were standing out a full half-inch. She started to feel a burning need for more. Peter shifted in his seated position on the floor, and she froze. Her heart raced, fearing she might be caught, but Peter remained facing away with his eyes glued on the screen, never looking up. Liz began to wonder how much further she could take this. How much could she get away with? Ignoring the part of her screaming "stop!" she dropped her right hand to her lap. She lowered her left leg to the floor, leaving her right foot up on the couch, opening herself wide to her unaware audience. With the heal of her right hand on her right thigh, she slowly ran her middle finger upwards across her pussy lips. When she reached her clit, she inhaled sharply at the electric shock. Still, Peter remained crouched over the computer, still focused. Grinning to herself, Liz continued. Slowly. Quietly. Rubbing circles over her clit, working hard to control her breathing so Peter wouldn't notice, bringing herself ever closer to release. She so wanted to cum, but she kept telling herself that she couldn't possibly get away with that without Peter noticing. Liz had never been able to cum silently, and as turned on as she was at that moment, she knew this was going to be a loud one. Nonetheless, she pressed on. As she continued her circles and strokes with her right hand, she kneaded both of her breasts with her left hand on top of her shirt, alternating from left to right and back. She was increasingly aware of how close she was getting. She kept telling herself she needed to stop, but her hands were acting with a will of their own now. Then, just as she began calculating excuses for the orgasmic scream she was about to let out, Peter started to sit up and turn around. Liz reflexively spun around in her seat so both feet were together on the floor, dropper her hands to her lap and pulling her skirt down to cover up all in one motion. Did he notice? Did he see anything? If he did, he didn't show it. Her heart was pounding in her ears and she could feel her own pulse in her throbbing clit. "Mind if I use your restroom?" Peter asked. "No, not at all. You know where it is." Liz responded, her voice quaking. Peter got up and slowly headed for the restroom. He walked in and closed the door. As soon as the door latched, Liz immediately resumed her jilling, hoping to satisfy her need before he came back out. Head leaned back, eyes closed, left hand under her shirt, right hand furiously rubbing, stroking, plunging into her pussy, driving towards the orgasm she'd been putting off for so long. Then she heard the bathroom door close again. She snapped her head forward and opened her eyes to see Peter standing in the doorway. Stark naked. His hard cock was pointing straight at her from across the room. Liz sat up. All thoughts of cumming left her mind for the moment, as she tried to wrap her head around this new development. Peter wrapped his right hand around his cock and started slowly stroking it. "I saw your little performance there. Very nice." "In fact, I saw the whole thing. From the moment you hiked up your skirt. "I guess you didn't realize it, but the screen on your computer is very reflective. Practically a mirror." Still stroking, Peter started walking towards Liz who was still lying on the couch with her skirt hiked up and her motionless right hand on her pussy, covered in her juices. "I thought about letting you cum, and waiting to hear how you explained it. But then I decided: 'Why let her have all the fun?'" Peter now stood in front of Liz, his cock at her eye level. His right hand still wrapped around it and sliding up and down its length. "Now it's your turn to watch." Peter started stroking a little faster. He reached down with his left hand and cupped his hairless balls. Gently squeezing and rubbing them while steadily stroking his cock. "Go ahead. You can join in." Not sure of his meaning, Liz started leaning forward, thinking about and wrapping her mouth around the cock in front of her. She imagined swallowing it whole and the sensation of it filling her mouth and pushing against the back of her throat. Her pussy tingled at the thought. The tingling sensation reminded her of what she had been up to a moment ago. She returned to her reclined position and re-started her own self-loving ministrations. She reached her right hand under her skirt, and found that magic spot again. The spaghetti straps of her camisole had long since fallen off her shoulders. She pulled the top of it down with her left hand, exposing both of her beautifully round, perfect hand-full sized tits. She pinched her left nipple hard, wincing and moaning out at the pain. Her chest and cleavage glistened with sweat. Liz continued to rub her clit while watching Peter's four-pack stomach muscles flex as he stroked himself. They looked into each others' eyes as they both continued masturbating together for what seemed an eternity. Then Liz could see in Peter's eyes that he was now very close to cumming. "Cum on my tits." She whispered as her own orgasm drew close. Peter leaned forward, pointing his cock at her exposed tits. He let out a loud half-grunt, half-groan as he started to cum. Part of the first shot hit her lips and chin and throat, the rest spilling down over her tits. The second shot hit her breast bone square between her tits. As she felt the hot cum hit her and run down between her tits, she started to cum herself, letting out an animalistic soprano scream. Peter's third shot hit the top of her right breast and dripped down over her nipple as she felt another wave of her orgasm wash over her. A few more drops of cum dribbled onto her stomach and her black shirt still bunched around her waist. Liz's orgasm seemed to last forever as she continued cumming and moaning with her mouth wide open. Spent, but still completely hard, Peter shuddered as the last drops of cum left his cock. His knees buckled and he lost his balance, falling forward. He weakly attempted to catch himself on the back of the couch, but missed. Peter's cock slid straight into Liz's mouth, still open from her moaning, and slid deep down her throat in one thrust. Still cumming, and with wide eyes, Liz moaned through his cock. Realizing what he'd done, Peter started to pull back, but Liz grabbed his ass with her left hand and held him there. She continued stroking herself as her orgasm began to subside, but she continued moaning as loud as ever with her mouth full of cock. Peter threw his head back and groaned at the amazing sensations caused by the vibration of her moans. Peter and Liz were both surprised when he suddenly came again, shooting a load of cum down her throat. Spent and exhausted, they both fell back onto the couch. When she finally caught her breath, Liz asked, "So, how's my computer?" "Oh, yeah, I fixed it in the first ten minutes I was here." The Fix-Up It was almost noon on a beautiful summer Saturday, and I was still in bed wearing my nightgown. Lori burst into our room and started rummaging through my dresser. "What the hell are you doing? And didn't you leave for your picnic or whatever?" She tossed me a pair of bikini panties. "I get that you're upset you broke up with Donny," she said, "but I'm not going to have you lying around depressed for the rest of summer session." She threw a pair of shorts over to me. "You're coming with us to Thomas Park, me and Frank and a few of his friends. We'll cook burgers and hot dogs and play Frisbee and get some sun, and you'll have a good time whether you want to or not." She tossed over a t-shirt. "Frank's picking us up in ten minutes." I was dressed and ready outside with Lori when Frank's hatchback pulled up in front of our dorm. Frank was driving, and another guy was sitting in the back seat. Oh, so that's how it was going to be. Lori got into the front passenger seat, and leaned over to give Frank a kiss. I climbed into the back seat. "I'm Jason," the other guy said sheepishly. "Hi," I said. "Annie. Your fix-up." "Yup," he said, giving Frank an evil look. "Shut up both of you," Lori said. "We were both tired of having mopey roommates. We're just going to a park. It'll be a nice day out, no strings attached." Frank and Lori were quiet on the 30-minute backroads route to Thomas Park. Jason and I could both tell that Frank had his left hand on the wheel and his right hand across the seat on Lori's lap. Clearly it wasn't being confined to only her lap. Nothing more awkward than two people being on an involuntary blind date, trying to ignore the fact that their best friends are fooling around in the front seat. We tried making small talk. I missed Donny. Jason seemed nice enough: good-looking in a tall, gawky sort of way. Kind of shy, but then I wasn't feeling like much of a chatterbox either. He was pale, as if he hadn't seen much sun these past few weeks -- but again, he probably thought the same thing about me, and probably for similar reasons. We met up with two other couples at the park, and the eight of us were the only people in sight. Lori pointed out that families usually hung out on the other side of the big lake, where there was a playground. This side attracted more of the college crowd, so during summer session it was fairly deserted. Frank set up the portable grill he'd brought, and the guys began cooking while the girls spread out the blankets and unpacked the salads, drinks, plates, cops and forks. Because sexism is alive and well 21st century America. I was glad Lori forced me into this. This was the closest to happy I'd been since the break-up. Since Jason and I were the "odd men out," we pretty much hung together as a couple. That was okay too. After lunch, Frank and Lori and one of the couples started throwing around the Frisbee. Jason said "I don't know about you, but I think I'll take some sun for a while." He pulled off his shirt, and I had to stifle a grin: if I thought his arms and legs were pale, his chest and back were shockingly white. I was probably no better, though. "I'll join you," I said, rolling my t-shirt up to just under my breasts. We stretched out on "our" blanket, half watching the Frisbee action and half dozing off. After a while, Frank and Lori abandoned the Frisbee game for a lie-down on their own blanket, leaving just one couple -- Vin and Susan, I think -- tossing it around. It was just that sort of lazy, humid afternoon. I noticed in the distance, about a hundred yards away from us, another couple sunning themselves on a blanket. It was hard to tell at this distance, but I thought the girl might be sunning herself topless. That would feel nice, I thought. I wondered, if I were here alone with Jason, whether I'd have the nerve to do the same thing. Susan trotted over to Vin and said something to him, and they both looked off in the direction of the new couple. Then Susan ran about halfway toward where they were lying, Vin moved toward her maybe twenty yards, then he lofted the Frisbee way over her head. It landed pretty close to the sunning couple, and Vin and Susan both ran over there to retrieve it. "Sorry, I accidentally threw the Frisbee too close to you," I thought with a grin, wondering what was going on there. I could see what was going on on Frank and Lori's blanket: they were lazily exchanging soft little touches. Lori had taken off her shirt, but she was still covered by a non-revealing pretty pink bra. I turned over and fell asleep almost immediately. I woke up to the feel of Jason's warm hand on my shoulder. "Annie? You may want to get up before you burn. We're all going to a swim." "What? Did you bring a suit? I didn't bring suit." I looked over at Lori, who hadn't put her shirt back on. Or had put it back on and then taken it off again. She was unbuttoning her shorts. "It's okay," she said. "we're doing what we did the last time we were here. Just swim in our underwear. No big deal." Her panties matched her bra, and you'd barely have known she wasn't wearing an actual bikini. She ran over to the lake. Jason still had his shirt off, but he hadn't taken off his shorts. "It's up to you," he said. "I'll stay here with you if you don't want to go in." "No," I said, "it's fine. You go ahead. I'll be in in a minute." I watched him strip down to his boxers -- nice ass -- and then looked over to see Lori, Susan and Kaitlin running into the water in their bras and panties. And of course that was my problem: I wasn't wearing a bra. I rarely do. Now understand, I've never gone skinny-dipping, or swam topless. Other than Donny, in fact, only one boy had ever seen my bare breasts I'm not a prude by any means: if the other girls were going into the water topless, I'd have joined them. If even one of them had, I would have. And yeah, if it were only me and Jason here... But I wasn't going to be the only girl here putting my smallish-but-attractively-pert breasts on display, thank you very much. T-shirt it was, then. I knotted my t-shirt below my breasts, peeled off my shorts, and ran for the lake. The cool water felt nice, especially since I'd spent more time baking in the sun than I should have, and it wasn't until I was standing chest deep that I realized exactly how sheer the wet t-shirt had become. The t-shirt Lori had picked out for me. I was pissed. The bitch had set me up. I swam over to her. "Not funny," I said. "You knew we'd be swimming here, and you tossed me a white t-shirt and no bra." She smirked, obviously not agreeing with my "not funny" assessment. "It could have been worse. I tossed you regular panties instead of a thong." "I'll show you funny," I said, lunging at her, grabbing at the back of her bra, trying to unsnap it as she struggled. "No, wait, stop that," she said, afraid of being stripped topless. She pulled away from me, and we both went under the water, grabbing at one another. When we came up, coughing up water, my t-shirt had been pulled above my breasts, completely exposing them. Lori noticed this a moment after I did and grabbed for the t-shirt, trying it to pull it over my head and off. It was all I could do to hold it where it was, worrying that it was going to rip. Then I saw Frank come up behind Lori, put his arms around her torso, and pull her away from me. At the same time, I felt Jason's body behind me, pulling me away as well. "I have never, in my life, been so reluctant to break up a fight," Frank said under his breath. I can't speak for what was going on between Frank and Lori, but I could feel Jason's cock poking firmly against my ass. I swear, he could have grabbed my breasts right there in front of everybody and I wouldn't have minded. Instead, he was very gentlemanly, pulling my t-shirt back down to cover them. Of course, I thought, as we half-walked, half-swam a distance from Frank and Lori, the t-shirt wasn't covering much: I might as well have been wearing cellophane. My breasts were clearly visible, my areolae showing right through, and my nipples looked like tiny thumbs, even harder than before after the excitement of my fight with Lori and my breasts being exposed. Jason was certainly noticing. My nipples were so sensitive, the t-shirt was actually hurting them. I was suddenly so horny, I wanted to scream. I threw my arms around Jason's neck and kissed him hard. He was surprised for a moment, but clearly this was what he wanted as well. I rubbed my pussy against his cock, and he pushed back. I'm not sure you can call it dry-humping when you're doing it underwater, but whatever it was felt wonderful. I let go of him just for a moment, pulled my shirt back above my breasts, and pressed my breasts hard against his bare chest. I convinced myself somehow that since we were pressed together, nobody could tell my breasts were exposed. The feel of my nipples rubbing against Jason's chest hair gave me a small orgasm. I needed to get fucked and I needed to get fucked now. I reached into Jason's boxers and freed his hard cock. Then I put my hands around the back of his neck, and ground my pussy against it. He reached down and pulled my panties to one side, and slid his cock inside me. I came so hard, I almost lost my grip. It was tricky for the first few seconds, but finally we got into a good rhythm as he took hold of my ass and pulled me forward and backward, letting his cock slide in and out of me. It was still awkward, and may not have been the best fuck of my life, but it was definitely the hottest. Anybody looking our way could certainly see my exposed breasts, but I was beyond caring. I didn't know where the other two couples were, but Lori and Frank were about fifty feet from us in water up to their neck. They obviously knew what we were doing, and Lori was waving her bra over her head, to show me she approved. I couldn't believe much of a turn-on it was, knowing we were being watched, even from a distance. Jason reclaimed my complete attention by asking, breathlessly, "Can I cum in you?" "Yes," I said. "Please, yes." It took three more hard thrusts, and then I felt Jason filling my pussy with his cum. I came again, the first time I'd ever come three times in a row. When he finished cumming, the cool water took its toll on Jason's cock, and he slid out of me, my panties sliding back into place over my pussy. I could feel his cum leaking out of my pussy into my panties, so I took them off and let the lake water rinse them clean. I saw that Lori was still watching us, so I waved the panties in the air the same way she'd waved her bra. I put my panties back on and pulled my shirt back down -- and Jason stuffed his cock back into his boxers -- and we walked back to shore, where our friends were waiting. I began to feel very self-conscious about the fact that my shirt had become see-through. Sure, my breasts were out for everybody to see a few minutes earlier, but that was then. Jason picked up his shirt from our blanket and offered it to me. I faced away from our friends, and changed. What nobody noticed was that after I put on Jason's shirt, I slipped out of my panties. They were wet and cold and since Jason's shirt came down almost to my knees, I figured nobody would know the difference. And nobody did, for the rest of the time we were at the park. I just had to remember not to do any cartwheels or anything. I kind of liked watching Jason spending the evening wearing nothing but his shorts. Returning home, Jason and I rode in the back of Frank's car again. This time, as soon as we started out, it was Lori's hand moving over to Frank's side of the seat. Jason and I both heard the sound of a zipper opening, and I hoped whatever they were doing up front there wasn't going to get us all killed. I asked Jason whether I could stretch out with my head on his lap, and he said of course. I was very aware of how close my face was to his cock, and I wondered whether it would be too indiscreet in the back of Frank's car to so some unzipping of my own and give it a taste. In the meantime, Jason was gently stroking my leg just under the hem of the t-shirt. Of course I wasn't going to stop him, and he slowly made his way up my bare thigh. I used my finger to lightly trace his cock through his shorts, as I waited for him to reach where he expected my panties to be. Just when I thought I couldn't stand the wait anymore, his finger brushed against bare, wet pussy. It was all I could do not to moan, and I squeezed his cock. I'd just decided to give him the blow job of his life, the hell with where we were or who was in the front seat, when we pulled up in front of Jason and Frank's building. "Why are we stopping here?" I asked. "Because we all have unfinished business and none of us wants to wait," Lori said. "You and Jason get out right now, and Frank and I will go back to our place." I gave Jason a quick look. "Hell yeah," he said, and we both grabbed our bags and dashed out. We barely made it into his apartment before he had his t-shirt over my head and off me, smiling as he saw me completely naked for the first time, and I had his shorts and boxers down and his cock deep into my mouth. And we lived sexually ever after. Well, until that incident two months later at the gym... The Fixer To the reader: Any resemblance to any location, to any specific event or series of events, or to any person, living or dead, is coincidental. The opinions expressed in this story do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the members, administrators, or owners of this website, and they may not coincide with my own opinions, or indeed, those of any right-minded individual. This story was started quite a while ago in answer to a writer's challenge. The idea was to write about "women for hire." That didn't necessarily mean prostitutes. People wrote about all kinds of women who use their sweat and their skills to earn a living. I went political. Since we're bombarded with hype about the up-coming U.S. elections, I decided to finish and post my tale now. __________ I'm known as The Fixer. I'm the head of a clandestine power brokerage agency. Our detractors say we're in the political "dirty tricks" business. I prefer to think of us as people who seek the truth. Everyone sees the results of some of our work. If a person in power has no conscience, we help the media provide one. Leaked sex tapes of the rich and famous? My predecessor invented them. Infidelity by someone influential? We're the ones who provide pictures of them and the slut to news networks. The people who pay well don't like you, Congressman? Prepare to see your career, reputation, and marriage crash and burn on the internet. In some cases, our mark unwittingly provides all the incriminating evidence we need, meaning that all we have to do is observe and record. In others, we do a little creative manipulation of events. A few marks have claimed they've been the victims of entrapment, but the public doesn't care if the evidence is damning enough. Not all of our work is displayed publicly. Some of our targets are smart enough to bow to the wishes of our clients. The dumb ones stonewall. A few, when confronted with the evidence we gather, try to buy us off, which is fine. They're digging their graves deeper. My assistant and housemate is a brilliant and beautiful auburn-haired vixen. Her code name is Monica. She excels in the talents of her Clinton Presidency namesake, and will do whatever is required to successfully complete an assignment. You may have seen her in photos our favorite paparazzi sold to one of the British tabloids. That was her in the mask, with the black leather corset and boots, putting nipple clips on a Member of Parliament several years ago. Me? Even Monica only knows me as The Fixer. That's all anyone needs to know. We had a new assignment. The target was a vocal pro-life (anti-abortion) activist, Reverend John Doe. This televangelist was ready to come out in support of former governor Smith, a candidate for an important Senate seat. His backers were afraid that Smith's personal life wouldn't survive scrutiny if family values and choice/life debates became important in the campaign. They wanted to silence the flamboyant activist so Smith could distance himself from the man and his mission. Doe was scheduled to speak at a large anti-abortion rally the following month on a university campus. Smith's people knew from sources inside Doe's camp that Doe was planning to endorse their man as a pro-life candidate, which was the last thing Smith needed. A pre-emptive strike was required. I had the perfect operative to put up against this mark – Madame Butterfly. She's the granddaughter of a decorated Viet Nam war-era U.S. Army colonel and his war bride. Their son married a Swedish girl, and they gave the world the young woman I work with. MB, as we call her, has enough Asian blood in her veins to look exotic to political candidates, judges, and the occasional swing-vote holding corporate board member. She can look elegant enough to put on a designer suit and pick up her mark in a cigar-and-cognac lounge or innocent enough to be a convincing schoolgirl. I phoned her, even though she was in the next office. "Are you horny?" I asked when she answered. "Off your meds again, Fixer? You must be to ask such a crazy question," she giggled. "Get your cute ass over here, sweetie," I said. "I have an assignment for you." "Should I leave my panties here?" "Since when did you start wearing underwear to the office?" My door opened, and a pair of frilly black boy shorts landed on my desk. Warm ones. "A woman never knows when she might want to at least pretend she's a lady," I heard her say, both on the phone and through the door. "Come in, close the door, and sit down. I need you to do something for me." MB model-strutted over to my desk. "Do you really want me to sit? Shouldn't I kneel?" "We'll get to that, but right now, I need to discuss a new case with you." "All right, boss," she said, adjusting her skirt to sit primly in the chair on the other side of my desk. "Who's the mark?" "This guy," I said, pushing a set of photos over to her. "I'll send you the files when we're done in here." "With the mane of white hair and the Armani suit, this has to be that fire-and-brimstone televangelist, John Doe," she said. "Colonel Sanders with a Bible." "The Most Righteous Reverend John Paul Doe himself. 'The Rev' or 'John' to people who claim to like him," I said. "He's creating a problem." "Do I need to know what it is?" MB asked, still studying the pictures. "It's all in the file. He's holding a big rally next month where he's slated to publicly link his ministry to former Governor Smith's Senatorial campaign. Reverend John must be put in an embarrassing situation before that. Smith has things to hide, like they all do, and the thinking is that Doe has to go." "What's my cover? Or should I come up with one myself?" "You're a University student/political activist/pro-life groupie. The good Reverend apparently does private counseling with morally-troubled young girls." "Are we going for pics of inappropriate cuddling? Or do we need the money shot?" she asked. "The client is willing to pay for the deluxe package. Go see The Medic this afternoon and get a tune-up on your ear implant. We're going to want to be able to talk to you." "Same acknowledgment as before when I turn my mike off? I'll scratch my nose to let you know I heard you?" she asked. "That seemed to work well before," I said. "Okay, boss. May I have my panties back?" "You're going to have to work for them." "I plan to," she said. She got up, walked over to me, hiked her skirt up to display her cute little pussy, and climbed on top of me on my chair. "I was horny anyway. I think maybe I want you to cum in my ass this time," she said as she took off my tie. The next day, a young woman who called herself Mary "Cho-cho" Bennett went to her first revival meeting conducted by the good Reverend. Cho-cho, as the name tag stuck to her university logo t-shirt said, spent the afternoon working her way through the crowd, and was caught by one of Doe's crew cameras, her hands in the air and a rapturous smile on her pretty face. Whoever was manning the camera got a number of pictures of young girls that day, but zoomed in on Cho-cho's cute little belly button piercing and her uplifted breasts in her tight shirt. He also got some video of her ass in her "skinny jeans" as the crowd was starting to leave. The trap was baited. Reverend Doe was airing a commercial on late-night TV pre-selling his "Spring Victory Tour" DVD boxed set, which promised to contain "highlights of Reverend John's most inspiring sermons" and "the faces of real people like you and me whose lives are changing because of The Word." It was implied that only "three easy payments of just $19.95 (plus shipping and handling)" would bring you nearly as close to Salvation as listening to The Great Man speak live. Apparently, Reverend John screened his own raw video footage, because he gave Cho-cho a grin of recognition when he spotted her in the same place in front of the stage two nights later at another gathering. The next night, it was a broad smile. After that show, she waited for him near the entrance to the secure lot where his limo and driver were. The cameras and mikes in MB's bag and clothing worked perfectly, just like the equipment we had hidden nearby. "Silver Sinner is coming. Going to passive audio," MB said. "Hello, child," the televangelist said as he got closer. He looked quite pleased to see her. "Reverend John, may I speak with you?" He waved his staff away. "Of course, my dear. Is something troubling you?" "Not so much any more. I've been to a few of your sermons, and you've really helped. I feel better about some things I never heard anyone talk about in church back home or in any of my college religion classes." "The Word and the Light have helped. I've just shown them to you in a new way. I've seen you at some meetings. You stand out from the crowd." "Really? Why?" "I don't get many Asians at my sermons. Especially not as beautiful as you. You've been blessed, my dear," Doe crooned. She grinned broadly. "I'm so thrilled to meet you. You're going to be speaking at my University next month. I've been asking around, and it doesn't sound like they're really doing much in terms of providing you with a campus guide, so I thought I'd volunteer. I'm Mary Bennett. My friends call me 'Cho-cho'." He took her offered hand in both his meaty paws. "Like the character Cio-Cio San in Madame Butterfly?" "Yes!" MB giggled. "Well, Cho-cho, that's a very generous offer. I accept." "Really? I'll do whatever I can to make you and your wife feel welcome," she said with girlish enthusiasm. "My wife doesn't come with me on the road much anymore. With the ministry growing, someone needs to stay home and mind the shop." "You must get lonely doing all these speaking engagements." "You're never alone if you keep the Lord with you, and my work brings me the sleep of the blessed, so I'm okay. But thank you for your concern. Sometimes I do wish I had a like-minded mortal person in the room with me to talk to." "I could talk to you. In fact, I'd love to talk with you. I think I could learn a lot." "Would you like to get some coffee?" "Sure! Where?" "My driver can take us anywhere," Doe said. Our team was able to follow them easily, since she talked the entire time they were in the limo. We had a surveillance van in the back parking lot of the store next door by the time Doe and Cho-cho got to the coffee shop. We also got three different camera angles of the good reverend's hand brushing her ass as they walked back to his car. "Shall I take you back to where you parked?" Doe said when they were settled inside. "I think I'd like to talk some more. I have some questions about morality." "I'll try to answer any questions you might have, my dear," Doe said. "Can we go someplace to talk? I drove here from school, so I'm like an hour from campus." "We can go to my suite. I have research materials there that might help you." We already had a team staking out his hotel. Our equipment was in place everywhere in The Rev's rooms. This was going to be easy. It was surprising to see how blatant Doe's sexual moves were. We might have been able to make him squirm with the surveillance pics we already had. No one watching the elevator video would be able to deny that he brushed his hand against her breast twice. Once inside the suite, he excused himself to "freshen up," inviting Cho-cho to do the same in the guest powder room. She spoke to the team from there. "How far do you want me to go with this creep, Fixer? How much do we need?" "What's your comfort limit?" I asked. "I'm surprised you have to ask me that. You're the director of this little skit, so direct me." "He's got a lot of money behind him. We need enough so that he knows he can't buy his way out of this." "Done deal," she said, as we heard the toilet flush. The indicator for active transmission went off on her voice feed. We were in voyeur mode again. The Rev came out of his room in a blood red dressing gown, and, it appeared, nothing else. "Reverend!" MB exclaimed, "I've never seen you in anything but the white suits you wear." "You've never seen my video sermons at my ranch? I think I look quite dashing in my cowboy hat and overalls." "But Reverend! I'm, uh,... well, I'm surprised." "I've been in a suit, vest, and tie since six this morning, and those new shoes I had on today are going to charity. I needed to get comfortable. Would you like something to drink?" "Um, okay." "Perhaps some champagne?" he said, moving to the small wet-bar in the corner of the living room. "I had that once when I was little at someone's wedding. I remember it tickled my nose. I don't think I liked it." "I don't have much here in the way of mixers. Maybe a rum and cola?" "I've had them before. But should I be drinking in front of you? I'm not quite twenty-one." Cho-cho giggled. "God's rules trump man's rules, my dear. There's nothing in Scripture about an age limit for the responsible consumption of alcohol." "The Rev's putting something in one of the drinks," one of the technicians said over our open feed. MB scratched the bridge of her nose with her little finger, our agreed-upon sign to acknowledge a teammate's warning. Doe brought the glasses to the couch, and invited Cho-cho to sit with him. "One of my questions is about pre-marital sex," she said, accepting her glass and raising it to her lips, but not really drinking anything. "A lot of kids on campus see nothing wrong with sleeping around." "That's a tough one, my dear. It seems temptation gets stronger for every generation. It was bad when I was a kid. It's worse now. Wanton sexuality is everywhere." He took a swallow from his glass. "Is your drink okay, dear?" "It's fine," she said, taking a tiny sip. "How can I convince my friends to be chaste?" "Let me ask you something, and I hope you'll give me an honest answer." "Of course, Reverend." "Have you ever had sex?" She shuffled her feet and looked down. "Yes." "More than once?" "Yes," she whispered. "Did you enjoy it?" "You're going to hate me if I answer that." "My dear child, no, it would be wrong for one of God's creatures to hate another." "All right, but you'll judge me." He moved over on the couch and put his hand on her knee. "If I were not a sinner myself, perhaps I could judge you. But we're all sinners, Cho-cho. I'm a man, sometimes weak, like everyone else. Trust me, sweetheart, I would be the last man to say it's not okay if you enjoyed it. The Lord gave us the ability to experience those sensations for a reason." "Why?" she asked, turning to face him. His hand fell casually between her knees. "To ensure the continuation of the species. 'Go forth and multiply.' If it feels good, He knows we'll do it." "But what about sex where you hope you don't get pregnant, or where you use protection?" "We have been granted the intelligence to produce methods to prevent conception, where that birth would be unwanted or dangerous, or the child would be born into a bad situation. I would never say this in public, but contraception prevents a lot of evil in the world. An out-of-wedlock baby is the devil's spawn." "Isn't abstinence the answer?" she asked, again wetting her lips on her glass. "Let me counter your question with a few questions of my own. Do you trust me?" "Of course, Reverend." "Okay, then please call me John. The reason I ask if you trust me is that I trust you. I'm saying some things to you that many people could misconstrue. The Lord brought you to me for a reason. He wants me to be honest with you." "What happens in private conversation stays private," she said. "I wouldn't want people to know some of the things I'll probably say to you." "Okay, wonderful, Cho-cho. Now, second question. If you're not a virgin, how is it that you're not a mother?" "We used condoms." "Good. You used the brainpower God gave you. But what would you have done if a condom had broken? That happens, you know." "You mean if I had gotten pregnant?" "Yes, darling," he said, edging closer to her. His one hand was now gently caressing her knees through her jeans. He was playing with the long black hair draped over her shoulder with the other. One of the techs said, "Great video, if you like perverts." "I'd be a mommy now," Cho-cho said, scratching her nose. "Would you have married the boy so your child would have had a father?" "I would have, if he hadn't turned out to be a creep. He was messing around with another girl while he was dating me." "Would single motherhood have interfered with your life's plans?" "Yes." "You're right, my dear. You would have had to take time off from college just to have the little bastard, and you would have been stuck with the labor and expense of raising it alone. The child would have begun its life at a horrible disadvantage, born of sin, and God's plans for you would have been thwarted." "I guess I could have given it up for adoption." "A very noble thought, Cho-cho. That might have been the best solution, assuming that the pregnancy, birth, and subsequent separation would not have affected your physical, mental, and emotional health, and also assuming the child would have been given to a couple prepared to try to rescue the spawn of an unholy union." "What other alternative would I have?" she asked. "I think you know the answer to that." "But,... but,... isn't that the very thing you speak out against, John?" "It is. That's why I wanted to know if I could trust you. The Lord will forgive your sins if you repent. You know that, don't you?" "Of course." "Some sins are worse than others. Cold-blooded murder is a grievous sin. The destruction of a mortal enemy, however, is sometimes the only course of action available. God will forgive a man who kills someone who is attempting to kill him or do him permanent grievous harm. In some situations, I believe that extraordinary measures can be forgiven to prevent the growth of an enemy. People don't understand the distinction, which is unfortunate." "John, are you saying that sometimes it's okay to have an abortion?" "Not okay, no. But it can be forgivable in some circumstances." I spoke into the open feed. "That may be enough, MB. It's time to leave. You're going to get a phone call." She barely had time to scratch her nose before her phone rang inside her purse. "My roommate," she said, picking up her phone. "Hi, Stacey! ... Yeah, I know it's late. ... He did? ... Oh, then I guess I'd better not miss that class. ... No, you sleep like the dead anyway, so I won't wake you up. ... Okay, bye!" "Problem?" Doe asked. "Not really. There's a new post on my department chairman's blog about penalizing kids who cut his eight a.m. class too often. He's going to start giving pop quizzes that we can't make up if we're absent, so I'd better go." "At least finish your drink." I said, "Spill some of it on you. Maybe we can get a chemical analysis." She scratched her nose and then picked up her drink. Just as she raised it to her lips, she faked losing her grip on the glass, spilling the drink onto her shirt. Even on the tiny monitor I was watching, I could see her nipples harden from the cold liquid. "Oh, I'm such a klutz!" she fumed. "Here, darling, let me help you with that." Doe quickly grabbed some napkins from the bar and began blatantly blotting at her chest. "What a sleazeball," one of the techs said. She scratched her nose as she allowed Doe to paw at her for a second. Then she politely pushed his hands away and stood. "I feel so stupid," she said. "You must think I'm an idiot." "Not at all, my dear, not at all. Accidents happen. You can't wear that wet shirt home. I'll give you a Victory Tour t-shirt." He bustled out of the room, returning a moment later with a plastic-wrapped white shirt. "Here you go, dear." The Fixer Last May I came in one morning to find the regional operations manager sitting in front of my desk. He tells me he needs my help to fill in at one of our satellite offices for a few months, just for the summer more or less. The guy knew how much I liked my corner office downtown, and he knew it was an imposition but he said it was kind of an emergency and that he would consider it a personal favor. I ask him what's the big deal with the place, he just says they lost the accounts manager in the office and needed to get somebody in there fast who wasn't going to screw things up. The Stony Brook office was about a hundred miles from the city, but if they were willing to pay me a little bonus plus time and miles to spend a couple of hours a day cruising the freeway in my beloved CTS, I guessed I would be a good player and do what needed to be done for the team. My name is Derek. I'm the "Fixer". Taking this transfer would have been a dream come true if I was the outdoors type, Stony Brook was a located on a scenic byway, but scenery and outdoor recreation are not really my thing. I like the city, the bars, the clubs, and especially the girls. You need to be in civilization to maintain a lifestyle like mine. I don't really like to brag, but frankly, for a guy in his 40's, I get more ass than a toilet seat any given week. I have to laugh sometimes when I hear about some of my buddies who have a hard time getting lucky. Some of these guys look like movie stars. Me? I don't have a pretty face or a great head of hair, I don't have charm school etiquette, and I don't act overly intelligent. What I do have is masculinity. I'm tall, I have wide shoulders and I'm lean and fit looking. I work out a bit, but cigarettes keep the fat off. I keep my hair buzzed high and tight. I make good money, dress sharp and keep my Cadillac shiny, but the thing that really gets me laid is confidence. Girls love confidence, and frankly, confidence comes pretty easy when you've got a big dick. Well, it's only about as big around as a coke bottle, mind you, but it's just shy of 10 inches long. Okay, I take it back, I do like to brag. I figured out how to finesse a girl into dropping her panties for me way back in my teens, but I've done way better in the past 10 years. The internet has changed everything this last decade. I started using craigslist to find pussy a few years back when I started getting too busy with work to troll the meat markets, and I have since waded through enough bullshit hook-up websites to finally find a couple that really make good on their promises. Last year I stumbled on to one that advertised local married women looking for "no strings" fucking. I was skeptical at first, but I signed up and posted a chest down selfie with my half hard cock angled for effect and within a week the MILF's started hitting the bait. It was like chumming the water for sharks. Of course, I love young women, with their smooth skin and tight little bodies, who doesn't? I don't think I'll ever get tired of giving an 18 year old her fist bigcock experience. But young women had all begun to seem kind of predictable to me. I had fucked a few married women over the years and didn't think much about it, but the girls I met on this site, my God! I had my choice of the lookers; some of them were drop dead gorgeous, but there was more to it than that. They all had this attitude, this frustrated horniness that you could just smell. I started to develop a nose for it, and I quickly developed a preference for it. They were so pliant, so insecure and so eager to please. Every now and then younger girls screamed and ran off when I pulled Derek junior out of my pants, but that was less likely with these 'broken in' bitches. Most of them had given birth and knew that larger things could fit into their precious little kootchie, even if it did take some stretching. Seemed like all of them were looking to get stretched whether they knew it or not. ---0--- Dinner, gas, a couple of drinks: Fifty, maybe a hundred bucks, sometimes less. That look on her face when I park my Cadillac in her Mini Cooper sized garage: Priceless. ---0--- I won't lie about it, I get off on the feeling that I'm taking something that's officially "off limits". It's an intoxicating kind of power knowing that while some faceless jerk is busy slaving at his job to pay off a mortgage and keep his sweet little wife in new shoes, she's on her knees in the middle of his expensively decorated living room trying like a champ to get her sweet little lips around my king-sized knob (Mm, no teeth baby, just pull the foreskin back and lick the head, there's a good girl). Guys turn into work-a-holics to keep and maintain all their stuff, but somehow forget to fuck these delicious little bitches they've given their lives up for. I feel like I'm performing a service! I don't try to make sense of it. I just smile every time I line my big tool up at the entrance of his wife's tight, neglected little pucker for that first time and wait for the guttural grunt when I ram it home. When I bend her over his dining room table and bottom out in her sweet little Susie-home-maker ass, when I pop my sch-long out and make her get on her knees and beg me to put it back in while she's licking my balls, well, there is a feeling of power and deep satisfaction in that I just can't seem to find anywhere else. Once in a while I get a soccer mom who desperately tries to maintain a sense of decency or some illusion of self-respect while she's getting pounded like a cheap cut of meat. These uptight bitches are my favorites, and I have learned how to play them exactly. There is nothing more rewarding than breaking, degrading and humiliating them. I simply use her own lust to turn her into my bitch, then all I have to do is let her know who she is and enjoy that look of debasement on her face as she realizes she's my helpless little fuck-toy. I like to leave that kind parked with all fours on the living room floor, with all three holes fucked raw and red, and her mouth full of my hot, ripe sperm. She may not want to swallow, but she damn sure doesn't want to get any on the carpet. I walk out the front door thinking to myself I'll never hear back from her. Then a couple of weeks later I'll get an e-mail begging to hook up again. It's all I can do to keep myself from breaking into an end zone dance when I realize I've got one of these bitches on my line, which brings me back to the story of my temporary commute. When I drove into Stony Brook that first day, I took a quick run through the local car wash then found the office quickly and parked my Cadillac right in the number one spot in front of the office window. A pale, slender face popped immediately up from behind the desk on the other side of the glass, like a scared rabbit poking its head out of a hole. I walked through the front door and found myself facing the office manager, Diane, I knew right away this wasn't going to be as bad as I thought. She was a prim, uptight little MILF straight out of my wettest dreams, standing there smoothing the front of her slacks with nervous hands. I've fucked plenty of better looking women than Diane, but I have definitely done worse. She looked to be in her late 30's, a little shop worn, a few wrinkles, but she was still slender and elegant looking. Shoulder length brunette hair and dark rimmed glasses framed the pale skin of her pretty face, Diane exemplified the sexy librarian look. Her ass was a little skinnier than I normally like, but there looked to be some nice perky C cup's straining just slightly at her cotton blouse. Diane was polite, but she couldn't disguise the fact that she didn't much like me; it was written all over her face. She shook my hand tersely and recited a customer service welcome straight out of the company handbook as she eyed me with obvious distaste. She made eye contact briefly but it seemed to take a lot of effort. She was really nervous, I love that. I held on to her hand a little longer than normal, long enough to visibly increase her discomfort level, but broke it off before she had the chance to. Think fast baby. It was a little more cramped in this office than what I was used to, but I'd make do. Diane showed me around while I walked behind her. She kept looking nervously back around as she talked, so she caught me staring at her ass within the first five minutes of my arrival. There was the main shared office space, a small restroom and a storage room. Not much more than an eight by twenty foot closet, the storeroom had a narrow passage down the middle with broad sturdy shelves made out of 2x4's and plywood down both sides. As she walked in ahead of me and pointed out the merchandise, supplies and dusty boxes of old records, I couldn't help but picture Diane bent over the bottom shelf in front of me getting her skinny MILF ass pounded. My desk was in the corner and shared a wall with hers. Her desk faced the front door, mine faced the wall. I guess she felt like the arrangement put me in my place, but I figured what the hell. I laid down my case and got my desk quickly in order then got started to work on my long list of phone calls. In the course of that first day as I chatted her up lightly, I learned that Diane was unhappy about the departure of my predecessor. I figured that was probably part of the reason she didn't like me and part of the reason I was here, which was a bit of a mystery. She got started talking about the guy and it was obvious she worshiped him like a saint. He just sounded like a pussy to me. As the rest of that first day went on, we asked each other the usual get-to-know-you questions, married? family? kids? My answers were "No, no and no"; she told me a little about her husband and a couple of teenage kids. I told her I dated a lot and hadn't found that 'special girl' yet, but was having so much fun trying them out that I didn't really care. She gave a phony little laugh. When I told her I dated girls I met online, she raised her eyebrows in obvious disapproval. When I expounded that my relationships were all no-strings-attached hookups, her expression was a humorous mix of disgust and discomfort, masked with that perfect phony smile. She was obviously offended by my lifestyle, obviously didn't want to hear about it, but laughed uncomfortably and nodded along anyway. The uncomfortable laugh, coupled with that puzzled, conflicted, fake smile on a woman's face, it clues me in every time; she's submissive. She could be easily manipulated. Diane was an open book, and that first day she told me way more than she intended with her body language and the little things she said when she was concentrating on something else. As the days went on and she adjusted to my presence in the office, Diane revealed her nervous habit of prattling on while she worked through the pile of papers on her desk. I acted like I was listening and made sure I seemed interested in her. She was a gold mine of tantalizing information about herself, and with every day that passed, the forbidden fruit just seemed to ripen. It made me wonder how much she would spill if she did like me, although she continually made it clear she did not. In the course of that first week, I learned that her husband was a broker or day trader or some shit like that, and she emphasized that he was a "stay-at-home dad". I couldn't help but wonder right away why she would be working in this dump if he was any good at his job. I noticed she didn't sport any "Broker's wife" bling. She drove a sporty but slightly dirty Japanese coup that was over ten years old and it was obvious she hadn't updated her wardrobe in a while. Of course, even I'm not rude enough call attention to those things. I didn't get to where I am in my business without being able to quickly read people. From the way she talked about her job it became obvious that she was resentful about having to work, and it wouldn't take Sigmund Freud to figure out that her resentment rested on good old hubby. From what she let drop and the blanks I filled in, it sounded like he had done pretty well when they were first married. She spoke wistfully about having traveled to Italy, Singapore and a shitload of other exotic places I didn't give a fuck about. One afternoon she got a little carried away talking and had gone on a little long about the lush life that she was obviously not living anymore. I dropped a little test question. "So why are you working here honey, just to make a little extra shoe money?" I could tell it hit hard and I instantly thought I might have gone too far, but she deflected without even looking up from her desk. She spoke with a barely detectable hint of resentment "I'm just doing my part to help pay the bills for a little while." She tried to put a light spin on it when she added, "And it gets me out of the house a bit." Sure baby, whatever helps you sleep at night. I have worked with plenty of women who didn't really need to work, and she was clearly not one of those. From what I sussed out as she talked over the next couple of weeks, her husband's business must have crashed back in the dot com bust and never bounced back. I figured she was carrying their bills and totally dependent on this job to make ends meet. I overheard phone conversations where she whispered the words "His depression", "anxiety meds" and whined that "all his pills are costing a fortune." Diane expressed plenty of anxiety about what the higher ups at corporate thought of her, so it was obvious she was paranoid about her position. I should be ashamed at what a manipulative son of a bitch I am, but I'm always keeping an eye out for leverage in people's situations, especially when it comes to women I'd like to fuck. One slow afternoon the workplace banter turned uncharacteristically spiritual, and I was just losing interest when she let drop that she grew up catholic. Kah-Ching! She had the disciplinarian father, schoolgirl uniform, the fucked up sexual identity, the whole package. Even though she continued to eyeball me like something that just crawled out from under a rock, Diane just got more attractive to me every day. ---0--- I adapted to the new schedule, the drive could be a pain in the ass sometimes, but I learned to deal with it. It was definitely a plus having a co-worker with a nice rack to look at. It helped me to get past her annoying personality. Diane had a lot of irksome repetitive habits that seemed to annoy the shit out of me. Like the way she always popped off with "REALLY!" out of the blue anytime anything upset her in the least, which was all the time. As much as she talked on and on when I was in the office, she still looked at me like I was something dirty on the bottom of her shoe. I was definitely having a hard time keeping my eyes off Diane's rack. I figured she was probably used to guys ogling her boobs, so I didn't try to hide it. Of course, she got noticeably tense when she busted me looking. I'm sure she was used to men awkwardly shifting their eyes when that happened, so when my gaze didn't waiver, she would be the one to do the awkward looking away, along with some shoulder slumping, turning away or suddenly finding a use for the stack of papers in her hands. Sometimes she seemed to search around uselessly with her hands for something to hold to her chest, I loved that one. Whichever manner she chose to react in, it was always a weak, submissive move, a move that a bunny might make when cornered by a wolf. It did strike me a little odd that she chose well-fitted tops that showed the girls off a bit, nothing slutty, just form enhancing. All the guys who call themselves "top pickup artists" say that you shouldn't ogle a prospect that you're working, that it creeps them out too much. I don't give a fuck, I like intimidating women, especially when they are too submissive to say or do anything about it. As a pick-up tool, I can't recommend it for everyone, in every situation, but it has worked for me. After a few more weeks of random testing and casual, subliminal probing, I was fairly confident that Diane would never be one to cry sexual harassment, no matter what I said or did. Diane was far too concerned about not rocking the boat. Hell, she was far too concerned about even being noticed by anyone in authority at all. Catholic girls! Thank God they put them in school with nuns and rulers. Those girls generate all that pent-up nascent sexual frustration, then they complete each others twisted sex education with their own specific tidbits of misinformation and girlish fantasy. The nuns manage to teach them by negative reinforcement that married sex is a duty, and that the hot, sweet sex they really want is dirty, sticky, tantalizing forbidden fruit. I'd dated enough catholic girls in high school to know that they'd put their sweet lips around cock in the back seat if they suspected they were not getting asked to prom. Of course this was always accompanied by a request not to watch her while she did it, followed right at the moment of truth by a request not to ejaculate in her mouth. I would always agree to the terms, shoot my load on her clothes or in her hair, then ask some other girl to the prom. All this made me have to wonder about sweet little Diane's history. Those tits must have been irresistible back in her teens, it's a sure bet she got asked out a lot. You had to wonder... ---0--- I still had to do road trips and sales calls quite a bit, so I was out of the office a lot. I gave Diane my agenda before I left and usually called and updated from the road. One afternoon a client no-showed on me and left me with nothing to do, so I had a long lunch and headed back to the office. I walked in to find Diane with her arms around a tall good looking guy in a nice suit. It might have been just a friendly little hug, but the way she broke it off and jumped back lead me to believe it had been going on for a while before I arrived. The busted look on her face was priceless, and I couldn't help myself, so I blurted out. "Wow, maybe I should tell your husband that you're hugging strange men at work." I'd never met her husband, and I would have assumed this was him if she hadn't started acting so suspiciously. I continued over to my desk and flopped casually into my chair. Diane was red-faced and flustered, but she got her awkward little smile on and made polite introductions, "Kenneth, I don't believe you've met our new accounts rep, Derek. Derek, this is my friend Kenneth, he manages the branch in Bridgeport." So this was the legendary Kenneth, the guy who sat in this chair before me. The name had always made me picture the Kenneth on Thirty-Rock. I didn't get up, just nodded and smiled. Diane's phone rang right on queue, and she hopped over to look at the screen, "Oops, I have to take this!" She picked up and gave her usual uptight phone performance while he stood there, awkwardly. I still had my sunglasses on and was eying him like a cop, smiling, getting things figured out here. Kenneth tried small talk, asking if I liked working in Stony Brook, which I answered with a shoulder shrug, and an "It's alright." I just sat there stretched out in my big leather chair watching the show while Kenneth nervously waited for Diane to get off the phone. She gave him a little "One minute!" hand motion and mouthed a little pouty faced "I'm sorry!" Diane was acting unusually stiff as she talked on the phone, even for a broad who was normally pretty uptight. Kenneth was a tall, good looking guy with a friendly face and wavy blonde hair. You could tell he was the sort of guy who was fussy about his appearance, probably fucked around with his hair for a half hour in the morning. His suit and shoes were impeccable. He was obviously hot for Diane; that much was clear as he hovered there nervously watching her. The Fixer She finally broke off her call and hung up and was checking through her lunchtime voice mails. She looked briefly up from her desk at Kenneth, "I'm sorry, it's one of those days, the phone's been ringing off the hook and I've got a lot of calls to return!" Kenneth didn't miss a beat, "Sure, that's fine I have to get going anyway." It was obvious some magical spell had been broken by my arriving on the scene, and I was loving every minute of it. Diane tartly asked me to cover the phones and walked Kenneth out to his car. I could see them across the parking lot, they shook hands like associates, giving their relationship the official public eye treatment for the bank of office windows. I just chuckled inwardly. Diane had something going on with this guy, but I would bet good money it hadn't progressed past the hugging and hand holding level. Diane was the kind of girl whose life was ruled by the outward appearance of decency, and Kenneth impressed me as the kind of guy who was too nice to push things to the point where he got what he wanted. Diane didn't look at me or talk to me when she came back in, just went straight to the phone. She was intensely pissed off, and she wore it all over her face and body. I knew she'd never bring this situation up, and I left it alone for now. She didn't say a word to me for a couple of days. ---0--- I had a couple of girls who were fairly regular fuck-buddies, and I tried to maintain those relationships as best as I could, given my new found commuter status. At first I made sure I only made those calls from my car just so I didn't get slapped with any sexual harassment trouble from Diane. I don't like talking on speaker phone in the car though, so as I got to know Diane and I was comfortable with the level of sexual discomfort she'd allow, I started making those calls and even doing video chat at the office. I was pretty discreet, but I could tell Diane overheard sometimes and that it made her uncomfortable and even pissed her off, but fuck her, I didn't care. One time she whined a little and asked if I could take my call outside. I just told her "Hey, you might love the small town life out here in the middle of freaking nowhere, but some of us have a social life to maintain back in civilization!" One afternoon Diane was on a break away from the office and I got a call from one of my favorite bitches. Cindy was in bed, naked and wanted to hear my sexy voice while she abused her little cooter with all the toys she had spread out on her bed. I obliged and told her everything she wanted to hear, and I was getting an aching boner out of the deal. I was sitting back relaxing at my desk, facing out into the room when Diane walked in. I looked down and noticed my hard-on clearly outlined against my pant leg, on display in plain sight, and Diane looked down and noticed it right at about the same time. She apparently went on noticing it, because she just stood there frozen for a few seconds gazing at my package with her mouth hanging open and her face gone red. I could tell she was impressed. It does go halfway to my knee, not something you see every day. I was fairly sure gauging from her reaction that it was unlike anything Diane had never seen before. I quickly talked Cindy down, begged off and hung up as Diane broke off her stare and ran to the toilet. When she finally emerged and went back to her desk, her face was still beet red. Diane was extra chilly towards me for the rest of that week, and hasn't warmed up much since. But I have caught her occasionally trying to catch another glimpse. ----0---- My 'temporary' transfer had gone all the way through summer and into September. The regional manager was pleased with the progress I'd helped bring about and assured me they had a couple of good candidates for the position and I'd be back to my old life in no time. That was last month. Three weeks ago I had a meeting in a town about two hours away. I planned to be gone all day and even though I would be passing through Stony Brook, didn't figure I would stop at the office, so I called Diane and let her know. She did her best to sound like she didn't give a shit where I was or if I ever came back. The meeting was perfunctory and wrapped up early. The secretary at my client's office was a knockout and knew it. She noticed me checking her out and put the tease on, so I'd been horny all afternoon and still was. I was anxious to get back to the city and scare up some gash. I was even thinking I'd get a call girl if none of the usual suspects were available. I was passing Stony Brook way earlier than I thought I would. I thought about just barreling by and heading straight to the city without pulling off the freeway, but my sense of duty prompted me to pull back to the office and tie up a few loose ends. Actually, it was my sense of always going the extra mile to make sure I looked like I always had my shit together that motivated me. I never want anything coming back around to bite my ass except for the occasional soccer mom. I pulled in to see the place closed up but the lights still on. Then I saw Diane's car across the lot. She was working late again. This wasn't unusual for Diane, since she was an insecure workaholic. I was going to bust through the door and yell, "Honey, I'm home!" but my sneaky sense suddenly told me to keep it down, and I always listen to my sneaky sense. There was loud music vibrating the glass as I turned the key and quietly moved inside. Glancing around, I saw no sign of Diane, just her iPod blasting an 80's tune through her desk speakers. I unlocked my computer and sat down at my desk thinking she must be in the can or down the hall. I let the music rock on, loud. I knew what kind of stuff she listened to, and the mix of hairspray band 80's rock and hip dance music just seemed kind of weird to me, she being uptight, fussy Diane and all. I started knocking out my paperwork thinking if she didn't show up pretty soon I was turning this shit down. All of a sudden that song "Get Lucky" comes on. It had been playing in the clubs all summer, so I was pretty familiar with it and fairly sick of it by now. Hearing it coming from Diane's i-Pod was a shocker; her kids must be downloading mp3's for her. I laughed to myself, knowing how the song went; "We're up all night to get some, We're up all night to get lucky". Those just were not Diane's kind of lyrics! Where the hell was she anyway? The flush of the toilet answered that, followed by water running, thorough hand washing and...wait a minute, what was that? It was Diane...singing. I turned in my chair towards the bathroom door, relaxed with my legs splayed out in front of me and my hands behind my head. The door knob turned and Diane danced into the room. Yep, she was dancing. She was pulling her best white girl party moves and singing, "She's up all night to get some, she's up all night to get lucky!" with a big corny grin on her face, eyes closed. I wished I was invisible, I wished...OMG I wished I was getting this on video! I knew there wasn't time the second she opened her eyes and saw me sitting there grinning. She jumped and screamed of course, scared shitless. I half expected her to be pissed off with embarrassment, but she surprised me with a weak smile, after she recovered anyway. She reached over her desk and cut the speakers, flooding the room with silence, broken by her "O-M-G!! You just scared the you-know-what out of me!!" She covered the few steps between us and punched me on the shoulder with her tiny fist. I really didn't think about it, just instinctively grabbed the fist as it glanced off, simultaneously got to my feet and used her momentum to land her smack against my chest, placed my other hand on the small of her back, carried her all the way through until she was laying back on my arm in a perfectly landed ballroom dip. My uncle told me dance lessons would pay off in a lot of pussy, and I took him seriously. She tensed up like crazy, but the grin never left her face as I swung her back upright in front of me. "You got some moves girl, I was just gonna hop up and join you but you shut it down!" She was standing there a little dazed from the sudden dip, and suddenly she started laughing. I guess it was my turn to be shocked; it was the first time I'd ever really seen her laugh. She was actually quite beautiful. She quickly extracted herself from my arms and headed to her desk. "You can't tell anyone Derek!!" She still had a little smirk on her face as she started back at her pile of work. "And, next time let me know you're here so I don't have a heart attack!" she threw out with mock anger, still smiling. "What? And miss Diane's geeky white-girl dance party? Sorry, that's not gonna happen," I retorted. This teasing banter was something entirely new. It was comfortable and fun. I could get used to this, I thought. "Well, if I ever walk in on this again, I'm going to get some blackmail video!" She laughed again, lightly, not her usual awkward laugh. She suddenly offered a cheery, "Hey, I'm gonna have some gum, you want some gum?" I laughed and shook my head, "Sure baby." I walked over to her desk and received her offering. As I turned and walked back to mine I looked back over my shoulder and sang, badly: "She's up all night to get some, she's up all night to get lucky". That got an eye roll and an over-the-glasses hostile glare, tempered by a cute smirk. I asked, "What are you doing here this late anyway?" She got back to her pile, "Well, I could ask you the same, but I'm busy boxing up all these files that have to get stored for the end of the fiscal year." She took a big stack of manila folders and dumped them unceremoniously into an open banker box on the floor. I kept working at my small backlog of papers, but suddenly I wasn't in any hurry to go anywhere. I had to admit I was a little taken aback at Diane's uncharacteristic behavior. After some further sorting and stamping I noticed Diane putting the lid on the box out of the corner of my eye. She got up, turned her back to me and faced the heavy box, as she squatted down to grab the handles. She paused at the bottom of the squat, apparently preparing for an OSHA perfect lift. The fabric of her pants was thin, and her feet were wide apart, and that squat afforded me a picture perfect view of her cute little ass, the fabric pulled tight to her skin, displaying all her contours exquisitely. As I've mentioned Diane has a skinny ass, which I don't normally go for. I like 'em thick and chunky like everybody else, but the combination of tiny buns with those skinny thighs creates a lot of open space where her legs come together, putting her little cooter out there in open view, which made me absolutely adore her tiny little dumper. Then I got another little shock. I couldn't believe my eyes; Diane was arching her back slightly, which put her pooty on perfect display, cupped tightly into a little pouch of trouser at her crotch. Was she purposely doing this for my benefit or was this just her lifting technique? Maybe it was a subconscious primal display from a creature that had gone a few mating seasons without getting boned. I didn't care, my cock was already hard and getting harder by the second. I leaned back in my usual desk break position, hands behind my head, legs splayed out in front of me. My schlong was straining hard against my pant leg, and I didn't care if she saw it when she turned around. I was thinking to myself "Yeah baby, take a good long look at what your hot little move just did to me, sweet little bitch." She took her time getting into position and finally pushed herself up to a stand. She turned around and saw me watching her, and her eyes dropped down my leg. She gave me an odd, pleasant little smile as she headed for the storage closet. Even carrying the heavy box she had a little bounce in her gait. I was just turning back to the task at hand when I heard Diane cry out, with no small amount of alarm in her voice, "Derek, please come quick, I need help!" I jumped up, quickly crossed the office and poked my head through the door to see Diane at the opposite end of the narrow room, the banker box pushed up against the top shelf but not quite on it. Diane's arms were fully extended and the box was threatening to fall back on her. "Please hurry!" she cried weakly. I got behind her quickly and pushed the box up on to the shelf and back. Her arms were still up, palms against the rough two-by-four and plywood shelf when I was suddenly very aware that the entire back of her body was pressed tightly against the front of mine. Her head leaned back against my chest, and my fully erect penis was snugged up against her soft little ass, running right down her thigh. And right then, it started throbbing. I heard a little catch in her throat, but I wasn't about to let her speak up and end the moment, which I figured she was just about to do. I quickly slid my big hands down the outside of her arms. Her arms stayed put, her hands even appeared to grip the edge of the shelf. I slowed down just slightly as I got to her armpits, preparing for the big forward plunge. I felt more than heard another catch in her voice, then she faltered slightly, getting out a stuttered "I, I..." just at the moment my hands slid past her armpits, grazed the top of her ribcage and slid underneath to cup her breasts. She started to tense up in protest and her hands let loose of the shelf as I slid mine across her breasts, cupping, kneading, pinching slightly. Her arms hung uselessly in the air, faintly fighting gravity on their way slowly down. I could feel her hesitance start to fall away, her body's resistance breaking in my arms. I brought my left hand back and slid it up her neck to grab a handful of soft brown hair at the base of her skull and gripped it tightly, pulling her head back gently, yet sharply. I knew it was all over for her when I heard the breath come out of her lungs in a long, groaning sigh. It was a symphony of pent up sexual energy, longing and relief. I pulled her head back and kissed her full on the mouth. I smeared my lips against hers, long, roughly, sucking her lower lip between mine. It was a kiss that said, "This thing is going to happen, my horny little bitch, just in case you had any doubts." I kissed her mouth and chin and started kissing my way down her neck, still gripping her firmly by the hair, my right hand quickly and expertly unbuttoning her blouse. I got enough buttons apart to slide my hand into her left cup and push it down, pushing out and smoothing her bra strap and the left side of her blouse over her shoulder and down, popping her tit out into the open air. I had been hoping that her boobs were genuinely firm, not just held in place by a really good bra. I've been surprised by saggy ones before that way, but not today. Diane had first rate knockers, I knew it. I yanked the strap down on the right. I had to get both of them out and start playing with them. I breathed hotly into the hair behind her ear, "I have wanted to get my hands on these for so, so long, and they are absolute perfection!" She didn't say anything, but her breathing grew heavier, and the hand that had been hanging uselessly in the air fell on the back of my neck and gripped hard. My lips fell on to her neck and I smeared strong, sucking kisses along its length, finding her pulse with the tip of my tongue. It was pounding like a little velvet hammer, and my tongue tip followed the beating along the vein down into the cleft between her straining neck muscles. I my tongue exploring her neck was apparently enough distract her as I sent my right hand exploring the land down under. When my thick fingertips homed in on her Venus mound through the thin fabric of her slacks I felt her stiffen a little, but it was definitely too late for her to turn back. My left hand renewed and intensified its dominating grip on the handful of hair at her nape, just a little signal to her that I was in control here. I quickly figured out the delicate, complicated feminine version of the fly button at her waist and made short work getting it out of the way and got her zip down more quickly still. I started to shove my fingers roughly under the elastic of her panty-waist, but slowed down slightly after breeching the border. She was quaking in my grasp as I slowed the pace ever so slightly, snaking my fingertips sinuously down through her jungle of pubic hair. I am not into big hairy bushes, I like my pussies shaven. A little triangular landing strip is always cute, but I like to eat pussy and don't want to pick my teeth afterward. I had expected an untrimmed snatch on Diane though, given that she had been out of commission a while and probably didn't deem her deadbeat husband worth the effort of shaving. If this turned out to be a repeatable offense, maybe I could talk her into shaving it later. I ran my middle finger all the way down and dove the tip between her labia to find exactly what I expected, the hot, wet slippery feel of a woman who is extremely ready. She must have been wet when we were sitting out in the office before. In fact, she was so sloppy I could feel her wet panties against the back of my fingers. I played over her clit teasingly with my right hand and let go of her hair to play with her left nipple from behind. I tested her with some mild nipple torture, quickly pinching hard and pulling away, letting suddenly go just to gage her reaction, which was positive. She took in a series of small, choked gasps in time with the pinching and pulling. She liked her nips mistreated a little, this was a good sign. I brought both hands up and simply enjoyed the firm velvety softness of her breasts for a few moments and then, so suddenly it made her cry out loud, I let go, slid my hands down her sides, hooked in to the waist band of her panties and bared her ass in one swift motion as I sank to my knees behind her, smearing big rough kisses across her sweet little butt, taking little bites, pulling gently with my teeth, letting the soft white flesh spring away as I let go. She started to straighten up and lean back. Maybe she was thinking this had gone too far, I don't know, but I stood up, grabbed hair in the same place as before and used the force to bend her forward over the sturdy, rough plywood shelf in front of her waist. I grabbed her hand and held it down on the shelf and whispered affirmatively in her ear, "Stay just like this, don't move." Her only answer back was her ragged breathing. I gave a couple of very hard love spanks to each of her ass cheeks just to let her know I wasn't fucking around. If she felt like running away now, she didn't show it. I loved the way Diane's body felt. She was skinny, but she wasn't a hard body. She had the luxuriously soft flesh of a lazy suburban housewife, and it was like play doh in my hands. I got back down behind her, took her butt in both my hands, spread her ass cheeks roughly and started eating her like a ripe peach, sucking her lips into my mouth and tonguing her clit. I spanked her ass hard and ordered her to arch her back and shove her ass in the air. She obeyed like a yearling puppy. In fact, she arched her back and sat back on to my face, smearing her cunt all over my mouth and chin. She was starting to get a little noisy too, little tense whiny noises started eking their way out of her throat, like she was trying to hold back and keep the noise level down but could barely keep it under control. I gave her the cunt eating of her life, sticking my long thick tongue into her hole and fucking her with it. The Fixer She gasped loudly when my tongue tip circled her asshole. She cried "Oh my God, what are you doing?" in an almost panic stricken voice. I answered by sticking my hard tongue into her sweet little asshole, and her puzzlement turned into louder moaning. I got my fingers in to the game, reaching up and gathering about an inch of pussy flesh between my thumb and forefinger, with her clitoral sheath pinched right at the center. I tugged back and forth on her sheath with purpose, jerking her clit off like a little dick, snaking my tongue up from behind delivering rapid-fire flicks to its tip every time a rearward pull unsheathed it. After about the third tug, she couldn't stay quiet anymore. I thought she was crying at first, the way her body was quaking. The sound that came up from her throat was like the sound of a woman sobbing loudly. It soon became obvious that Diane was having a particularly violent and wrenching orgasm. Her legs went weak and I felt the full weight of her upper body resting on me as she bucked her ass up and down, rubbing her pussy all over my face, sobbing and groaning like she had lost possession of her mind. She started bucking faster and faster, and I heard her mouth the words, "Please don't stop, please...please" I have large hands, I don't remember if I had mentioned that. My middle and index finger combined are the size of the average guy's erect penis. Diane found this out very quickly as I stood up and shoved them into her tight little pooty. Her upper body collapsed forward onto the shelf in front of her as she submitted to my digital invasion. She was very tight for a tall skinny girl. I shoved the two fingers all the way in up to the knuckles of the other two, and kept hammering away, like I was punching her in the cunt. As she lay there in a quaking pile on the shelf, moaning loudly, I was pretty sure she was having a chain of orgasms. I thought it was a good time to introduce her to the schlong. I wanted get her on her knees sucking cock, but held myself back again. I didn't want to push her too hard this time around. I was already raging hard anyway. I undid my pants and let them fall to my feet. I decided not to plunge it right in, although that would have been a nice eye opener for her, I wanted to tease her with it a little. Instead I pushed the schlong down with my hand and maneuvered it forward right between her legs, then let go of it. The back of my cock slapped straight up against her sloppy wet gash. That got a nice little cry of shock from her. I kept thrusting the length of the cock back and forth underneath her wet slit without entering her. I reached forward and grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her upper body back towards me with it, making sure she got the idea she was my little pony. I leaned towards her ear as I pulled her head back and whispered in a deep, ominous voice, "So, you don't want me to stop, huh?" I thrust my cock long and slow. Her cunt was leaking profusely onto it, and she was riding it tentatively, up on her tip toes with her hands gripping the rough wood edge of the shelf, not quite letting her weight down on it. I pulled my cock suddenly back and out from under her and let it rest between the cheeks of her ass for a second as I reached around and grasped her face, still gripping her by the ponytail with the other hand. My big hand covered the lower half of her face, and I gripped her somewhat roughly, distorting her lips. I leaned forward and whispered, "Beg me not to stop." She hesitated and I shook her head slightly, "Beg me or I'll put my cock away and drive off right now." Diane was clearly dealing with conflict here. I helped her by pushing the schlong back down between her legs, grabbing it by its thick base and slapping the length of against her pudendum, slapping slowly at first, then building up speed. She was making the 'O' sound with every slap. I built to a fast rhythm going and then stopped suddenly, holding it the schlong down, rubbing it tantalizingly against the insides of her thighs. Her voice was small and and sounded far away, "P-P-please, please Derek, please don't stop." I started slapping my meat against her pooty again, alternately sliding it against the opening of her wet gash. Every few strokes I would angle the head back and push it against her opening, letting it slip forward just as it started to push against the resistance of her tight hole. She came down off her tip toes and started to let her weight down on my cock, pushing down on it. She also started rocking her pelvis slightly, sliding her pussy back and forth along the length. I kept teasing the opening of her hole with my big fat cockhead, pushing past it at the last minute and slapping the knob against her clit. This always elicited a chorus of O's from her sweet throat. As I rubbed her clitoris with the backside of my cockhead, she tensed, sucked in a big breath and went over the edge again, whimpering and whining her pleasure as she shuddered in my grip. I decided it was time to take the plunge. I Stood her up, pulling her back against me. I let go of her hair and ran my hands around her front and got my hands under her boobs. God, they fit my hands just perfectly! Gripping her breasts roughly, I slammed her body back against my chest and brought myself up to full height, the back of my raging hard-on pressing up against her pussy, lifting her up on her tip toes again. I told her to look down. She obeyed, and I knew she was seeing the fat knob of my ten inch schlong poking out into the air in front of her. I gave it a couple of good thrusts for effect; lifting her body and making her whimper and cry. "If you want it inside you, you have to ask me nicely baby." I was a little taken aback by her response. "Please, I-I want you to put it inside me, BUT..." BUT? She hesitated, obviously thinking things through. I kept up the sliding thrusts, all the while teasing her nipples with my fingertips, circling her aureoles, tweaking and diddling the erect tips. She got a little lost in a round of moaning, then found her voice, "...but, I need you to use a...a condom. Please?" "What?" I couldn't help the slight incredulity in my voice. I got a little rougher with her nipples without realizing it as I spoke, "You want me to wear a rubber? Don't you think I'm clean?" She had been docile when she asked, but I could hear a little resolve starting to build in her voice. "Well, I do NOT want to catch an STD, but aside from that, I'm not 'fixed'." She paused, thinking. "It's a long shot, but I could get pregnant." I backed down a little, "Ok, baby, I'll have to run out to my car, I've got some in the glove box." I was again a little shocked by her retort. "You were supposed to be this big player," there was a little bit of minx in her voice, very uncharacteristic for Diane, "I figured you'd carry one in your wallet." I let go of her tits and got both my big hands around her throat, squeezing just slightly. She groaned and shivered responsively. I moved my lips up against her ear, and whispered low, "I'm going out to my car to get a condom, when I come back, you're going to find out what kind of 'player' I am baby. When get back I want to find you with your pants all the way off, bent over with your hands on this shelf and your legs spread, ready to fuck, is that clear?" She nodded her head quickly. I could feel her hot pulse through her pussy against my dick. I gave her throat just a slight squeeze, then let go. I pushed her forward and her hands fell back onto the shelf in front of her. I reached around and pinched her clit sheath between my fingers, pulling and stroking it as I slid my cock back and forth against her slit. I could feel her ridiculously swollen labia protruding from her cleft. I grabbed her right wrist and guided her hand to her pussy. "I'll only be gone a minute, you keep this thing hot and wet until I get back." I could tell it was humiliating for her, felt an intense resistance in her hand as I placed it over her hairy mound. "Please Derek, I, uh..." "Listen Diane, I know you know how to play with yourself," I noted sarcastically, "Do as I say. I'll be right back." I got my pants up and headed out to my car. On the way out my mind was active with thoughts of how I was going to play this. I was thinking fast, on the fly, and it was intensely exciting. I got into my glove box and retrieved a strip of condoms, along with a small bottle of lube. I realized suddenly that Derek junior was starting to get a little relaxed, but I knew it wouldn't be a problem, I'd get hard in a few seconds slapping it against Diane's sweet little ass. Then a brilliant and marginally evil thought came to my mind. Starting right at that moment, I began to think the most boner shrinking thoughts I could imagine, starting with baseball scores, boring clients, and then I had my 'aha!' boner-killer moment. Loretta, the logistics supervisor at the main office, a big, loud ugly woman, about the most un-attractive woman I could imagine. I began to visualize her as I never had before, and it worked. My erection began to fall and soften. The chill autumn air helped a lot too. I dug in the glove box for the one other item I would need for little miss tight ass and headed back inside. I was focusing on Loretta's face with all my might. I half expected Diane to have panicked, got all buttoned back up and headed out the other exit. It wouldn't have surprised me much if she bailed. But when I got back to the storeroom there she was, like a dream come true, stripped to the waist and bent over the shelf at the back of the dimly lit little closet. I had to laugh a little; her pants were folded on the shelf, with her panties laid neatly on top. It looked like she was even obeying my commands and diddling herself. I left the door open slightly behind me, letting in just enough light, set my go-cam on the shelf between some boxes, and aimed it as best I could. I walked up behind her and ran my hand soothingly up her back under her blouse. She melted under my touch. "God what took you so long?" Her voice was edgy, and I could tell she was getting nervous about this whole thing, probably looking for any excuse to bolt before it was too late. "Sorry baby, they weren't in my glove box, I had to dig through my case. You've been a good girl though; I've got a nice big reward for you," I let my words hang for a moment, and then threw down the gauntlet, "...but first I need you to fluff me up a little so we can get this condom on." Her puzzled little voice resonated back to me from the wall and shelves in front of her face. "You need me to wh-what?" I was as nonchalant as I could be, "My cock went a little soft on my scavenger hunt, I just need you to get me hard again so we can get this condom on it." "Well...well what do want me to do?" I was on the verge of chuckling at her innocent little girl voice. "I just need you to turn around and give me a little blowjob baby, that's all. It won't take long." That much was the truth, I could feel myself starting to swell just thinking about it. Loretta, Loretta, Loretta... She turned around and looked up at me, disgusted. Her face was a mixture of frustration and distaste. She sighed, let her chin drop slightly, glared at me over her glasses and gave me a perfect Tina style "Really!?" "No big deal baby, just get on your knees and get it hard." She looked down at my schlong, curved downward in a nice long arc, still soft enough to legitimize my request. A slightly startled look came over her face, mixed with disgust. "Oh my God, you...you shave your gear?" I chuckled and nodded. "Most ladies like a smoothly shaved cock and balls, baby. I like to get my balls licked; shaved balls get a lot more love." She frowned and wrinkled her nose, "Unggh, Grr-ross!" "L-look, I'm..." She hesitated and drew in a breath, "I'm not very good at...at...the blowjob, and I don't...I just..." I put my hands comfortingly on her shoulders and squeezed gently. It's been my experience that when a woman tells you she gives lousy head, she ain't lyin'. That can usually be interpreted as "I hate sucking cock." "It's okay, hon, doesn't have to be pro-level, just get down on your knees and I'll walk you through it. I was beginning to think I'd pushed the whole thing beyond the breaking point, and my dick was dropping in earnest, when she lowered her face, shook her head slightly and sighed. "Alright, fine I'll do it." She grasped the shelves on either side of the narrow passage and lowered herself reluctantly to the floor in front of me. Thank god for perfect shelf height! If I hadn't screwed up the positioning or the low light setting on my cam, then I had the tip of my dick in place for a perfect side shot. I took her right hand from the shelf opposite the cam and guided it gently over to the base of my cock, laying her cool, slim fingers over the top of my soft shaft and guiding her thumb around underneath. I could feel her tighten her grip, instinctively trying to gauge its girth. Even as soft as it was she couldn't quite close her hand all the way around. She didn't look up as I spoke softly but firmly. "I don't know who told you aren't good at giving head, but if you stick to the basics and keep your teeth out of the game, there's really nothing to it. Here's step one, get a good grip with your right hand." I wrapped my right hand around hers, then reached down with my left hand and wrapped it around her delicate little wrist. Slowly, coaxingly I started pushing and pulling her wrist, using her hand to stroke myself. "Stroke the cock nice and steady like this, and then just start licking the tip. If that's all you do, you can make most guys happy. It will definitely get me good and hard. You can develop your technique from there" She had her head tilted forward to keep me from watching her as she feebly darted her tongue out and repeatedly licked the very tip of the head, like a kitten lapping at a saucer of milk. I'd let the head tilt go for now. Whatever dignity she thought she was preserving would be decimated on video. I just hoped the cam was working. "Mmm, that's good baby, keep going. Now reach up your other hand and cup my balls. Again, she let out that sigh of resignation mixed with a groan of distaste. I loved it. She reluctantly let go of the shelf with her left hand, brought it up from under and gingerly weighed my ballsack. There's nothing I love more than a girl who really doesn't like to give head but gets down on her knees and gets the job done anyway. I'd take a girl like that over a cum guzzling whore any day. "Mmm, very nice. Nice job baby. Now move your hand up towards the head and start pulling the foreskin back while you stroke the cock, and swirl your tongue all over the head, not just the tip." She paused and let out a little huff of indignation, "Do you have to talk to me while I'm doing this? It's degrading enough just being down here on my knees." "Sorry baby, just trying to give you a little guidance to make this go quicker, I'll shut up if it makes you feel better, but yeah, more tongue please, and work the underside of the head a little more." Diane hesitated, shook her head a little and let out a disgruntled huff, but her mouth went back on the knob. She skinned it back and increased her tongue action, just as she was told. "Oh, just one more thing, if I may?" I heard the breath snort out of her nose, but her tongue didn't leave my knob as she asked "Whuth mnow?" This was too much fun. I blurted quickly, "Just, um slowly, steadily increase your stroke speed, make sure your lips cover your teeth and alternate your licking with a little sucking on the knob, and get the scrotum hand busy too, try gently massaging and pulling at the balls a little." She brought her mouth off my cock briefly but didn't look up as she spoke in a curt monotone, "Doing my best here." She went back to work and much to my surprise, she followed instructions very well, even somewhat enthusiastically. I rested my hand on the back of her sweet little head and started rocking my pelvis ever so slightly. I had the strongest urge to grab her by the ears and skull-fuck her, but good sense won the day. Instead I gently poked the head of my cock in to her mouth just up to the glans with every stroke. She pulled her lips off, bucking a little at the hand on her head. Her voice was fraught with bitchy impatience. "This is taking a long time, isn't it hard enough yet!?" I just smiled, "Not quite yet baby, but you're doing a great job!" She was turning out to be a first rate cocksucker. I was tempted to tell her she could go pro, but decided to withhold that comment until it was too late for her to quit. "Here, let me speed things up a little. Take your hand off the cock and stick your tongue out as far as you can." She did as I asked, but tried to keep her head down so I couldn't see. That wasn't working for me. I grabbed a knot of hair at the back of her head and pulled back ever so gently, grabbed my mostly solid shaft at the base, and began stroking my shaft and slapping my cockhead against her tongue. The look on her face was priceless, her eyes blinking in shock. She didn't have much to say, just barely audible grunts escaping through her nose. I could tell she half wanted to protest, half wanted to get me hard and get this over with. Fortunately, I had read her submissive tendencies correctly. She pulled her tongue back in and I beat off against her lips for a few strokes, and followed up by rubbing my slobbery pud across her lips and cheeks. "There, it's hard enough now, let's get a glove on and get going." You have now been sufficiently humiliated and degraded, you stuck-up cunt. She got to her feet, shuffled in a daze for a second then turned, bent over and grabbed the shelf. I didn't expect her to just jump up and assume the position, but then I figured she probably didn't want to look me in the face me while I fucked her either. I rolled the condom onto my turgid member and applied some of the lube to my fingers and in turn to her slightly air-dried vulva. I lubed her interior nicely with my index and middle finger. I poked the tip of my slick, coated thumb into her tight little brown-eye. I just said "Oops!" and laughed as she jumped and grunted. I grabbed her ass cheeks in both hands and spread them quickly and roughly, then stood up straight to slap the back of my pud against her slit. She stiffened up a little as I instructed her, "Ok baby, grab the big pole and put it in your little hole!" Diane bitched a little under her breath, "Unggh, do you have to be so crude, REALLY?" she obeyed, reached back and got hold of the schlong. As she got her hand around my knob, she pushed it down and away and spoke quickly and a little desperately, "Okay Derek, we both know you're thing...you're...it's BIG Okay?, so could you please go very slowly? I need to adjust, PLEASE?" "Oh, so you haven't had a big cock before?" I asked with a chuckle in my voice. Even though she was facing away, I could hear the eye roll in her sarcastic reply. "I'm sure you never get tired of hearing this Derek, but no, I have not had anything this big in my vagina since the last time I gave birth. Does that make you happy?" She was right; I never get tired of hearing that. I chuckled quietly, "Don't worry, I'll go easy on you". Her fingers were coated in lubricant, and I gave a couple of hip thrusts and fucked hand lightly with my condom encased sausage. She got the message and gingerly rotated her hand underneath it, snugging the top of the head up against her slippery opening.