0 comments/ 19486 views/ 6 favorites A Valentine From a Good Friend By: Annabelllee2003 Pammy squares her shoulders as she opens the door to the bar. Stepping over the threshold, she squints in the smoky room, trying to find her bright-headed friend, Janet. It's packed. She glances at her watch, noting the time. She's early, a curse of hers. As she makes her way to the bar, through mounds of people reluctantly giving way, she spies a table for two, the occupants just leaving, and changes direction. Sitting down with a sigh, she unbuttons her coat, lays it on the other chair and puts her purse on the table before her. 'Why did I let her talk me into this?' she asks herself. 'This is the last place I want to be.' Pammy slumps a little in her seat and orders when the waitress stops at her table. "White Russian, please" she tells the waitress as she self-consciously tugs at her skirt. Her thighs rub together as she crosses her legs, and then uncrosses them, uncomfortable. The waitress threads her way back to the bar and Pammy reflects on what she is doing here. Her husband Mac left her a year ago. Their divorce became final the first of last month. She finally pried off her wedding ring last night, to put into her jewelry box along with so many other broken dreams. Her eyes darken and shimmer with unshed tears, and she again straightens her shoulders, and blinks. She is sick of crying. That's why she let herself get talked into this. Valentine's Day eve and she is more alone than ever. Last year's Valentine's day found her slumped on the sofa, a box of chocolates empty beside her, crying, moaning and reliving the words of her now-ex-husband weeks before. "Christ Pammy, look at you. So you miscarried. Big deal. We could have had others. But no, you just sit and stuff your face. And you wonder why I started seeing Barb?" His anger grew when she started to cry. "Yeah, cry. Cry and piss and moan and eat your way to an even fatter ass." Slamming the door behind him, he left and never came back. She hasn't always been fat. Pammy was going through a 'thin' phase when she met and married Mac four years before. All her youth was spent hearing well-meaning and not-so-well-meaning comments: 'She has such a pretty face.' And 'She'll lose it when she meets someone special.' How often has she heard them? Every cliché, every joke. As Pammy squirms in her chair, waiting for her friend, someone is looking at her. Someone started watching her as soon as she came through the door. What he sees isn't how she would have described herself. Quinton sees a beautiful lady with deep liquid brown eyes. She moved through the crowd as if expecting someone to bark at her. Dark glossy hair, shoulder length and curly. Pink lips and cheeks, her eyes shy and sad. As he watches from his vantage point at the end of the bar, he continues to do inventory. Large bosom, at least 44DD he would guess, putting a number on them, as men tend to do. Rounded belly, her ass matches her breasts he decides. Soft shoulders, the bra strap evident under her un-tucked blouse. A whisper of leavage shows in the vee-neck of her blouse. She's wearing a skirt that she thinks is too short, if her tugging at it is any indication. Her legs are clad in dark hose, shimmering in the murky bar light, nice heels. Quinton has wanted to meet her for months. He was friends with Janet's husband, Sam. One night, at Sam's, they were thumbing idly through Christmas photos. He saw Pammy posed with Josh, their son, in front of the fire. His smile gleeful, hers shy. She had him in front of her, no doubt hoping to hide behind his 3 year old body. And if looks were anything, she was what he has been longing for all his 35 years. Quinton's marriage was finished three years ago. He has dated some, but not much. He has always been attracted to larger ladies. He is powerfully built, 6'4" inches of cowboy charm, light brown hair worn longer than the current style. Went with his image. He was a singer in a local country band. He made enough with his current gigs to live a good life. He was just lonely. Lonely and looking for a woman like her. He has often faced derision for his taste and choice of lady, and couldn't care less. As he watches, a lady and guy bump against her while moving from the dance floor. Her drink tips over, and their eyes slide over her as they laugh their way by. No thought of apology or replacing her drink is evident as they stumble off. Trevor feels a tug at his heart when she merely wipes up what is left of her drink with a couple of cocktail napkins, such resignation in the gesture. He senses her impatience as she glances at her watch. He motions to the bartender, orders, and makes his way slowly to her table. Pammy sighs as she mops up the drink thinking, 'Now she's late. I'll give her another 15 minutes, then I am out of here.' She dislikes being in a bar, out in public generally, alone. It's not bad with friends, she can usually keep in the background, but just waiting in a bar, the biggest broad here, makes her ill at ease. She starts when she notices him standing at her table. Her head cranes upward to his face, and his eyes, so kind and warm, catch her. "Can I join you?" he asks over the noise. She looks behind her, as though she doesn't quite believe he is talking to her and then back to him. "Uh, sure" she says, "I was getting ready to leave, so you can have this table anyway." She moves her coat to her lap as prelude to putting it on, and is startled when a waitress arrives delivering another White Russian. He pulls out the chair and moves it slightly closer to her, draping his leather jacket on the back of it and sits. The band finishes the set and announces a break. Voices clamoring in the relative quiet of the bar grow quieter as people realize they don't have to yell over the band. Her eyes go back to his face. He is very good-looking, lean, and tall. His hair dark and wavy, worn long. The dimple in his chin reminds her fleetingly of Michael Douglas. He leans in closer, smiling and lowering his voice "I hope you don't mind, but I saw your drink end up on the table, and such a pretty lady shouldn't be without. And a pretty lady shouldn't be sitting alone." "Well, thank you. That's nice of you, but really, I have to leave soon." Pammy's face flames at the compliment, and she looks down into her drink. She is flustered by him, his good looks and sweet words, and offers an explanation. "I was supposed to meet my girlfriend here and she's late. I was just about to leave… "I really should be leaving now." She is reaching for her purse when a strong hand catches her wrist, she looks at him again. He leans closer still, "Please stay. Sit with a lonely cowboy and finish your drink ...please." The entreaty disarms her, and she finds herself nodding. "What's your name, sweet lady?" "Pammy, um, Pamela. And you are?" "Quinton Andrews, singer, song-writer and general pain in the ass, at your service. Call me Quinn." With these words he reaches to shake her hand. Her hand feels swallowed in his big grasp. She smiles shyly at his introduction. "Well Pamela, when the band comes back, would you like to dance?" Pammy is surprised at his words. She hasn't danced in years. Her size, always foremost in her mind, has prevented her from a display on a dance floor. She always feels like everyone's eyes are on her, with ridicule and scorn. Life can be mean to a big woman. And previous insults can color every new situation. Pammy hesitates. His eyes are compelling and dark blue in the subdued light. She smiles a half-smile figuring he's a kind man, maybe with come kind of complex… looking to make the day of a fat broad. "Really, you don't have to. I don't usually dance anyway." She answers with a little shake of her head. "It's my pleasure, believe me," he answers as the band returns. They launch into a slow set and Quinton stands and takes her hand in his. He pulls her up and whispers in her ear, "Right this way Pamela." The breath of his words spoken against her ear brings a shiver that he can feel. With his shoulders cutting through the crowd, he leads her to the floor. He's easily a head taller than she, even with heels. She feels strangely graceful, following him through the crowd. When he takes her into his arms for the dance, her heart quickens. The dance floor becomes crowded pushing them into a tighter embrace, his body long and hard against her. Her head is cradled against his upper chest and she can hear the bass vibrate through him. She smells his cologne, spicy and tart, and his own rugged man scent. Her eyes close as he rests his chin on her hair, so soft and scented with a sweet smelling perfume. As they sway slowly to the beat of the song, his hands caress her back, pulling her closer still. Pammy savors the feeling of being held tight against Quinton. It has been so long since anyone has touched her. Let alone, this gorgeous guy. She goes with the moment. Her big tits between them, the nipples hardening with the friction of his chest moving against her. Quinton feels his cock rise as she moves against him. With a little moan, his hands travel down her back to the base of her spine, and then lower to the big swell of her ass. He pulls her closer yet, letting her feel his cock stiffen. Slowly grinding his groin against her, he feels the sharp intake of her breath. When Pammy feels him grow against her belly, she feels a corresponding wetness, as if in silent reply to his stiffening, making her panties damp. 'How the hell has this happened?' her mind asks the question. She thinks she could fuck him right here, now, he has affected her so. No sooner did she think this, a hand moves from her ass to turn her head to whisper against her ear "I could strip you and fuck you right here, Pamela." Her mouth goes dry and she feels another surge of wet. Her breath coming faster, she pulls away to look up at him. Left brain logic and right brain impulsiveness battling each other as she looks into his dark eyes. "Where can we go?" she asks, her right brain having won this particular skirmish. Quinton feels a rush of emotion at her words. He swallows hard, smiles, and takes her hand, leading her back to the table. He helps her with her coat, shrugs into his, and snags her purse up giving it to her as they walk from the noise. Leading her from the bar to his truck, his hand resting on her ass, the air feels cool against her flushed face, Pammy smiles uncertainly as he opens the door to allow her to enter. Stepping up on the running board to haul herself up into the cab, she feels his hand on her thigh under her skirt. Her mind is whirling with a thousand different things as she feels herself react to his touch with a little shiver. …How big her ass must look from his vantage point, how she shouldn't leave her car and go off to fuck a stranger. How much she does want to do just that. She buckles the seat belt around her waist and watches as he climbs in, lithe and graceful. He leans over and kisses her. His lips firm and soft on hers. His hands reach to twine his fingers in her hair on either side of her face and he deepens the kiss, drawing back only to chew on her lower lip, before returning. His tongue teases her mouth open and she leans into his kiss, offering her tongue. She traces the inside of his mouth and then wantonly sucks his tongue. Her hand reaches over and drops to his lap pressing into his groin, he moans into her mouth, as she rubs his hardness through his tight jeans. Breaking away from her, Quinton stops her hand and pulls back. "We'll never get out of the lot like this Pamela" he smiles. Her dazed expression compliments the tightening he feels in his balls. Pammy leans back into her seat, staggered by the intensity of their kiss and his abrupt pulling away. Her mind somewhat eased by his smile not to mention the appreciative bulge in his jeans. Pammy doesn't remember much of the drive. She watches Quinton as the streetlights and oncoming cars' headlamps make his face strobe dark/light. He drives with absentminded attention, one hand on the wheel, the other on her thigh. He turns his head toward her every once in a while to smile a promise at her. Pammy looks out at the darkness punctuated by streetlights. Her right and left brains start another round of conflict as she realizes that she probably should have called Janet. Let her know she wasn't there. Well, Janet was late. But still, if she does show and sees her car in the lot… What has possessed her to go with this man? Is she that starved for love? Ah, second thoughts. Another fault of hers. What could he see in her? Quinton senses her withdrawal and moves his hand to her shoulder. "Hey Pamela. Just relax. I'm not a pervert or maniac. If you're uncomfortable, and have second thoughts, we can just drink some coffee and talk" his smile sincere. "I'm happy to have met you and just would like to get to know you better." Pammy looks back to him at his words and thinks that this was the second time he has seemingly read her mind. "Quinton, er, Quinn, it has been a long time since I have been out on a date." The incongruous statement echoes in her ears… DATE? Is that what this is – picking up a guy in bar? "I mean been out with a different man" she amends. Can she possibly sound more foolish? "What I mean is" taking one more stab at it "is that I haven't been with a man in quite a while, and it's been even longer since I've dated and I'm nervous as hell and yes, I am having second thoughts." Apparently she hadn't quite drained the well dry of foolish remarks. By the time she finishes the explanation, she can feel her cheeks flaming. She didn't notice when they left the main road. Quinton smiles again as he pulls into a long driveway. "Cross my heart Pamela, no funny stuff" he assures her as he parks the car in a breezeway beside a white ranch house. His seatbelt makes a snick-hiss as it is released to snake back into the seat. Turning toward her, he releases her seatbelt and eases it around her so it doesn't fly back as his did. Pammy feels another little rush of heat as his arm slides around her guiding the belt. She is so attracted to him. Quinton kisses her quickly, a little peck and reaches into the backseat to retrieve a large heart-covered gift bag before sliding out his door. Oh the trepidation that bag gives Pammy. The troops from both sides start a real barrage as she begins to work out the significance of the gift bag? Was it a gift from a lady of his? His gift to her? Maybe he was stood up and just to get even, picked her up? A gift from his mom? Any of her business? Pammy retreats from these imaginings as he opens the door to help her step down. Quinton watches Pammy from the corner of his eye as he leads her through the breezeway with a hand on the small of her back to the door. She seems so tense. He hands her the bag to hold while he unlocks and opens the door. From her reaction, he guesses the bag somehow bothers her. She held it like someone handed her a dog turd to hold. Smiling, he takes the bag and ushers her inside, through the lanai, the kitchen, dining room, stepping down to the living room, snapping a light on in the kitchen and dropping the bag on a counter as they pass. A lamp in the window softly lights the living room. Pammy looks around and is pleasantly surprised to see a nicely furnished room. Masculine, but comfortable, a fireplace at one end. Large comfortable looking sofa, matching chair and a large leather recliner. Deep fall colors glowing in the dim light. No real decorative theme, but certainly not the man-den of a pervert. "What can I get you Pamela?" he asks as he takes her coat. "Coffee, wine? Mixed drink, Beer?" "Wine please." "Have a seat, I'll be right back." Humming softly, he takes the stairs at a hop, hangs up her coat and his in the foyer, and goes to the kitchen. Pammy, doesn't sit right away, but walks around the room, examining the bric-a-brac on tables and the quality prints on the walls. His guitar is propped in a corner on a stand. She stops before it. He's a singer he said. A songwriter. She reaches and idly plucks a sting or two daydreaming a bit. She is at ease here. The bag is forgotten. The battle, a truce. Quinton feels like singing. He has his heart's desire in his house. Whether he gets her into bed is irrelevant. As he uncorks the wine, he figures it would be enough to court her and woo her. She is as nice as Janet and Sam said she was, if not nicer. Funny. Beautiful. An awkward charm. And they sure have a good thing going with the physical attraction. Grinning, he spies the gift bag on the counter, and hedging his bet or maybe pushing his luck, he takes it to his bedroom before returning to pour the wine. Moving back down the few steps to the living room, Quinton sees her at his guitar. Her womanly body bent slightly to pluck at the strings. He will sing to her. But later. "Here you go Pamela," he says as he points to the sofa with an elbow, "relax and let's talk," handing her a glass he then grabs the remote off the cocktail table, clicks on soft music and sits. And they did talk, for hours. About their lives, divorces, work. Underneath it all an undercurrent of charged sexual feeling. Her shoes kicked off, one bottle of wine a dead soldier, the other almost, they have moved closer and closer to each other, narrowing the distance on the sofa until their knees are touching, facing each other in conversation. As Pammy laughs at one of his anecdotes, Quinton leans forward and kisses her, unable to resist the impulse. It goes from a soft kiss to passion in seconds. Their arms wrap around one another, her breasts squashed against his chest. Pammy is liquid as he deepens the kiss then breaks it off backing away a little, to kiss down her chin and throat. His hands touching her, caressing her, from neck to breasts. Hooking a finger in her collar, Quinton pulls it to the side, Pammy feels his lips there and hears him inhale her scent. His teeth nip and nibble, his lips soft and wet, Pammy starts her own exploration, lightly caressing down his back, moving around to feel his hard chest through his shirt. Quinton leans away from her with a soft smile, looking at her. Her hair is mussed, her lips swollen and damp from his kiss. Eyes dark. Her skirt has ridden up showing a remarkable amount of her fleshy thighs, her large breasts straining against the thin fabric, prominent nipples displayed in glory. Breathing hard. Pammy meets his gaze after he has seen her. Her eyes shy and questioning with a shadow revealed. How she wishes she had the perfect body to wrap around his. The hurt of what she is, a 5'6" 210lb, mound of flesh, pushes into her mind. The thousands of derisive comments she's heard all her life flood back. The battle lines are drawn once again and she waits, prepared for rebuff. Quinton has no such rebuff for Pamela. He can see her thoughts as plain as, well as plain as her hard nipples. She's afraid of him. Afraid to be open to him, afraid to be hurt by him. And she is beautiful to him. Her half fearful smile, warm inviting body. He wants to be on her, in her, pressing against her big body, and abundant chest. He wants to feel her legs wrap around him, and hold her extravagant ass tight to drive deep in her, lost in her body. Quinton doesn't want to see fear in her eyes. With a groan he reaches for her wrists, grasping both in one strong hand. Urging her down on the sofa, raising her hands over her head. He kisses her, his body moving on top of hers. His other hand on her delicious tits. His thighs pressing into her. Grinding his hard jean covered prick against her softness to her pelvis. Breaking the kiss, he looks into her eyes deeply for a long drawn out moment. "Let me be good to you Pamela." Seeing the answer in her eyes, his lips come down again. A Valentine From a Good Friend At those words, Pammy's internal war is concluded as the cerebral troops shake hands and go home. She can't refuse him. Her desire for him is intense and consuming. Her body is humming with need; her lower belly twitches with anticipation when he grinds into her, her panties wet. Her mouth is dry with lust. Quinton's kiss becomes fierce, bruising her lips. His tongue dancing and sucking hers. When she feels him suck her bottom lip into his mouth, to nip and tug he catches her deep moan in his mouth. He tightens his grip on her wrists, almost painfully, as his other hand reaches between them to fumble at the buttons on her blouse. Baring her bra covered tits, his mouth descends on one, then the other, licking, sucking, nipping and teasing her through the lace. The sensation of lace wetly scraping over her nipples is exquisite. The corresponding rush of fluid released to coat her cunt is copious and she feels it seeping more steadily into her panties. Quinton draws back some to run his free hand down from her breasts to her belly and lower, sveltely and sinuously coming to rest against her sex, palm down. Another long look into her eyes, he must hear her voice. "Pamela, will you let me be good to you? Will you let me make love to you? …Make you feel fine?" His voice is husky and low, rumbling. Looking up at him, the desire burning bright in her, she answers simply. "Yes Quinn, …please." The 'please' a supplication he rejoices in. Pressing his palm down on her cunt and moving it slowly, he kisses her again. 'Ah, she feels hairless through the thin panties …this just keeps getting better and better' he thinks as he feels her response with the slight parting of her thighs and returned upward pressure from her hips. Releasing her wrists, and standing, he offers a hand to help her up. Pammy moves to his embrace as he gathers her in a hug before leading her from the room. Her mind is in a jumble with longing and anticipation. Following him up the short stairs back through the foyer her heart is trip-hammering crazily in her chest. Down a hallway, he leads hers through the shadows to his bedroom. Hitting the wall switch, the room is brought into focus. She can hear the music from the living room flowing into speakers recessed on either side of the huge bed. The colors here are also the fiery colors of autumn, and suit him, she decides. Quinton crosses the thick carpeting to light a hurricane lantern on the dresser. He walks back toward her to flick off the light leaving the room bathed in its flickering glow. Pammy watches him, noting the grace with which he moves. Her blouse still open she looks down at her breasts, nipples still hard and poking out of her bra, the white lace darkened with wet circles from his mouth. A shiver travels from her head to her toes at this mute evidence of his lips. Moving back toward her he sees the shiver and smiles his warm smile at her again, moving around her to return to the bed to turn down the comforter. "Quinn? Can I use your bathroom?" She needs a moment. "Of course, Pamela, through the door there" pointing to a door adjacent to the wall the bed is against. 'My god, I love the way he says my name' she thinks as she slips inside and does her business. Without much forethought she indulges in the bidet that she marvels he even has, the warm water spray cleaning her pussy makes her realize again how close she is to being held so intimately. No one calls her Pamela; evidently her girth makes her a Pammy in everyone else's eyes. Every thing she knows about him, his looks, his kisses, his body, his smile, his laughter is exactly what she finds attractive. Bracing herself against the basin, she looks into her own reflection and wonders how he can be attracted to her. She ponders a little; washing her hands and decides to let it go. If she keeps it in perspective, she at least will get a mind-blowing night of sex. To hell with getting upset when he doesn't call her again. Reaching instinctively to re-button her blouse she stops and with a defiant look back in the mirror, leaves it open. Pulling open the door, she is started by him just on the threshold. A little "Oh" squeaks out of her mouth before she can stop it. "Thought I was going to have to haul you out of there Pamela" he tells her with a smile. Placing a finger to her lips, "No more second thoughts allowed darlin'." Taking both her hands in his, he lead her to the bed. Standing in front of her and gazing into her eyes, his hands move to her shoulders to slide the blouse down her arms. When her hands reach to serve him the same way, he takes her hands and holds them down at her sides, shaking his head. "This is for you, my Pamela, I am the songwriter and this is your song," he bends to whisper this magical phrase in her ear. Could any other words have the same affect? She doubts it as she feels his lips move against her ear, a soft shudder shaking her body. Feeling around her waist until he finds the zipper at her side, he unzips her skirt, pulling it down slowly as he brushes her body with his, then kneeling to continue to move it down her nylon clad legs. Hooking his thumbs in the waistband of her pantyhose, he draws that down too. Each movement a caress. When he reaches her feet, his hands urge her to sit down on the bed so he can release her from them. Her flesh is like a pearl, translucent and fair. Only marred in his eyes by the red line at her waist where the panty hose has cut into it. Quinton takes her by the hands to stand before him, as he steps back to remove his clothes. Picking up their clothes, he drapes them on his valet standing by the dresser. Pammy gets a good look at his naked body. Wow. Long, lean, tight ass. Broad in the shoulders, and his penis… good sized and thick. Moving to the little table in front of the draped windows, he pours her a glass of wine. Standing before her again he tells her, "I don't want you thirsty or distracted Pamela" handing her the wine and watching her drink. Taking her glass and putting it on the bedside table, he faces her again, taking her into his arms. Sliding his hands around to her back. Merely her bra and panties separate them. He moves so slowly against her. Letting his skin learns hers. As passionate and frenzied as they were in the living room, it's slowly languid here. This time he nurtures and builds their passion. When her hands reach again to touch him, he smiles and shakes his head 'No'. 'Ah, this is pure delight,' he thinks, her hands at her sides are such a lovely indicator. As he nuzzles against her, kissing her neck and shoulder, he hears a moaning sigh, tinged a bit with frustration. He smiles against her neck, and bringing his hands to her ass, clasps her tightly against him, so she can feel every inch of his cock. Opening his mouth he sucks against her shoulder, raising the skin and leaving a little love mark that causes her to take in her breath, hold it and release it in a shuddering sigh. Moving around to the other shoulder, he repeats this love kiss, pulling her into him in time to his sucking. He feels her start to raise her arms to hold him again and is amused and smiling once again as she drops her hands, frustratedly fisted. Pamela is so excited at his touch, when he closes his mouth around a mouthful of shoulder again she groans louder. Fighting the urge to touch him, she grits her teeth at the maddening sensations he brings to her. Quinton feels her arousal, and leads her to the bed. Laying her down, he gets the lamp on the dresser to put on the nightstand. Her eyes squeeze shut as he adjusts the flame brighter, embarrassed to be exposed to his eyes. "I want to see you, Pamela, I want to see your face and body as I make love to you. You are my dream woman, my fantasy" the pleading in his voice continues, "Please look at me, and watch me love you." Pammy opens her eyes to see him looking at her so tenderly, beseechingly, she finds herself nodding. His answering smile sweet, he sits by her and bends to kiss her. This kiss again a soft caress. His hands touch her softly, slowly, massaging her lightly, moving across her breasts to tease her nipples. Pinching slightly, rolling them between his fingers. A hand moves down her belly tracing gently, exploring the faint stretch marks her failed pregnancy left her with. Climbing on the bed, he urges her toward the middle, to be able to move freely around her on the bed. Moving his body on top of her, he kisses her again, circling her lips with his tongue and teasing her mouth open. Resting his weight on her, he slides his hands down her sides and scoots them under her ass to hold her tight while he presses into her with his cock. Quinton's cock is between them it's length against her clit, and he massages her for a bit. When Pammy's hands again try to grasp him, he breaks off the kiss and smiles at her. Rising up from her, he knee-walks to the edge of the bed and reaches down. A rustle of paper, and he returns to Pammy with a handful of silk. Straddling her at the waist, he takes one hand and gently ties the silk around her wrist, then the other. Moving up on her chest, his cock in nearly in her face, Pammy can't resist a quick lick to the head of his penis. She sees him jerk slightly with her touch and smiles when he pushes up away from her to tie her hands together over her head. "All for you Pamela," softly spoken as he moves back down her body. His mouth claims hers again and then blazes kisses down to her tits. Nipples so big and hard against the lace. He mouths them, making them wet again, nipping and sucking. Quinton continues his exploration down lower with his lips, tongue, mouth and hands, not leaving an area untouched, down to her wet panties, savoring the sweet skin, idolizing the abundant flesh, and her Rubenesque proportions. Pammy starts to pant and move her hips in the love dance of eons when she feels his tongue lick from her hole to her clit through her panties. Slow long, licks, soaking her panties, making her hips jerk, making her moan, he finally reaches up to unhook the fastening between her breasts letting her tits spill free. Quinton nearly loses it when he sees her naked breasts. He moves back up on her body to nuzzle them, hold his head between their perfection, kiss the sweet hard nipples and suckle them, his cock hot and throbbing. Getting a grip on his own passion he rises and bends over the bed again, returning with another swatch of silk, this one black. Moving to Pammy's head, he asks a question with his eyes, as he shows her what it is. She nods mutely at Quinton, her mouth again dry as she sees another of her fantasies come true. He covers her eyes with the silk and lifts her head to tie the scarf. So careful not to pull her hair. The gentleness in his touch moves her and the silk quickly absorbs the tear. Quinton brings the bag to the bed, now and spreads out the rest of its contents beside her. He teases her body with silk, a feather, edible oils; he pours wine from her glass into her belly button to lick it out. Slowly increasing the stimulation of Pammy until she is moaning almost non-stop. Stopping between her legs, Quinton finally removes Pammy's panties to bare her hairless cunt to his mouth. He spreads her legs wide and licks her cunt, clit to asshole, stopping to use his tongue like a little dick at her pussy opening. She is so wet. He puts his face into her cunt and inhales the sweet scent of her arousal. His tongue plays at her ass, swirling and darting in just a little, when she feels his tongue in her ass a near scream is forced from her as she urges him deeper. 'Oh god, another fantasy,' her mind babbles. One hand is squeezing, rolling and pinching a nipple, then the other. His other hand holding her folds open to his mouth. Then he captures her clit with his mouth, sucking and licking, nipping. Developing a rhythm that leaves her crazy and wanting. The sounds coming from Pammy's mouth become more guttural and lustful. She is straining against the silk bonds at her wrists, her head moving side to side. Quinton feels the gathering and tightening of her body as she prepares to head over the edge. She starts to moan louder and in her moans are the words he has waited to hear. "Fuck me Quinton. I need you in meeeeee." The last syllable breaks and he moves quickly between her legs, and finally enters her. One hard, fast shove, and his cock is buried deep in her. Flexing and bearing down against her, he doesn't thrust. His hand reaches up to remove her blindfold to stare into her eyes, so dark now with her excitement. His hand goes to her bound wrists circling them tightly, to use for leverage, the other snakes under her ass to push her up against him. Quinton rocks against her, feeling her cunt tightly clasp his cock, her movements echo the tempo of his rocking, a delicious friction on her clit. Pammy pushes up against him, urging, tightening again and again, milking his cock into her as she quickens toward her climax, when she steps over the edge, her spasms grip his cock and he starts to cum, bathing her cunt as he mashes down harder on her cunt and clit with each pulse, loosing his pent up seed in shuddering spurts. Pammy's cries mingle with his as she continues her release, cumming in long slow bursts, matching each spurt and jerk of his cock with her convulsions, slow drawn out ecstasy. Quinton collapses on her, his delicious weight exactly what she wants to feel. His hands slowly move on her wrists, freeing them. Pammy can then hold Quinton tightly to her as the shudders through her body wane and still. Her hands twine in her hair as she brings his head forward to kiss him with a mouth dry with such release. She drinks from his mouth, sated. Quinton rolls off of her, bringing her with him to be cradled against his chest. Their breathing slows finally. Each is content to savor the closeness of the other. When Quinton stirs, and rises, Pammy looks at him questioningly. He stands at the side of the bed and brings up the bag, the damnable bag that caused Pammy such worry earlier. Moving to her again, he sets the bag beside her, to reach in and withdraw a card. He hands it to her. Startled, Pammy takes the card her eyes widen in shock when she sees her name written on the card. "What is this Quinn?" clearly perplexed. "Open it Pamela," his only answer. Sitting up, she opens the envelope and draws out the heart shaped card within. Opening the card, she reads: --- Pammy, I hope you don't mind that I didn't make it to the bar, but Quinton has been so insistent on meeting you that we arranged this date. He has wanted to meet you for a long time. If you are reading this card then I think you have had a lovely time. Don't hate us! I think you two were made for each other. Happy Valentine's Day my dear best friend. Love, Janet. PS. The bags of 'gifts' were chosen especially for you, Pammy. Quinton and I had fun shopping for you. --- As Pammy read this, the blush starts in her face and traveled down her entire body. When finished, she has a terrible time meeting Quinton's eyes. When she does, the warmth of his gaze, the love in his eyes, is evident and he grabs her, hugging her, kissing her. Showering her with all his pent up emotion. Pamela smiles as she pulls back to look at Quinn, returning his gaze with answering love. "Quinn, we need to send her a Thank You card."