The Librarian: Part 1

13 aug · Steamy-Stories

Brandon has been harboring a secret librarian fantasy

by horn pixy. Listen to the ► Podcast at Connected.

Brandon has been harboring a secret librarian fantasy for many years, but Emily was hardly his idea of a hot librarian. She was the type of women who came a side-serving of Complication. So why couldn’t he stay away from her?

It was almost time for last call. Brandon wiped the sodden rag over the counter and put the empty glass the girl had just put down into the crate under the bar with the other dirty glasses.

“One more?” he asked. She nodded and took her wallet from her purse. He handed her the scotch on the rocks; her sixth or seventh one for the evening; and wondered how she managed to keep her balance on the high barstool. Her eyes had that glazed look of somebody who had definitely had a few too many, but if he had not been the one to pour her drinks; all six or seven of them; he would not have guessed she was drunk. There was no characteristic slumping or wobbling or even raucous laughter. In fact, her ramrod straight posture and uncanny balance reminded him of a ballet teacher, especially with her hair scraped back into a bun like that. She was pretty enough, in a neat, mousy little way. It was impossible to hazard a guess at the figure under the bulky, shapeless coat she was wearing over goodness knew what. She was wearing glasses with a nice frame that actually suited her face in a non-descript kind of way. Brandon had never seen such a dignified drunk in his life. She had better manners drunk than most people had when they were stone cold sober and sitting their grandmother’s sitting rooms.

“Thank you,” she said politely when she accepted her change and slipped half of it into the tip-jar, as she had been doing all evening. He kept an eye on her as he started straightening bottles on the shelf behind him, wondering about her story.

Brandon loved his job. He owned several bars and still spent an evening now and then behind the counter. After serving drinks for three years across the globe when he was fresh out of high school, he enjoyed the occasional trip down memory lane. It fascinated him to see how alike people were, no matter where they lived. Broken hearts healed just as slowly in Hawaii as they did in Australia, and flirting was a universal art that did not differ too much from one place to another. He loved watching the games, the intrigues, the emotions, as people relaxed around him. He’d seen it all; the break-ups and the make-ups, the hopeful souls scouring the bar for the love of their lives; or at least the lay of the night. He’d seen people drink to forget, or to try to keep memories alive. He’d seen them drink because there was nothing else to do, or because they couldn’t do anything else. He’d seen the lonely girls go home with the wrong men and knew they’d wake up the next morning with alcohol on their breath and regret in their hearts. He’d seen women play fast and loose, and the men who managed to escape their clutches. He’d seen the best and the worst of people, but he thought he’d never quite seen anything like the girl sitting there in a dull brown coat, finishing one drink after another without toppling over or falling into somebody’s lap on her way to the bathroom. She was fresh and new, and it intrigued him.

The bar was rather empty in comparison to most Friday nights. But to be fair, it was the middle of the month and there was a blizzard raging on outside. He was closing up earlier than usual to give the staff and the customers the chance to get home before it got worse. The neat lady; there was other way to describe her; was one of the diehards, but since she was hardly causing a scene, he didn’t ask her to leave just yet while they were cleaning up.

Finally they were done, and he had to ask her to leave. She blinked owlishly at him from behind her glasses.
“Excuse me?” she asked, as if she had not heard him the first time.
He leaned closer and thought he caught a whiff of something clean and fresh under the ripe smell of alcohol and closed-up people that hung over the room.
“It’s closing time,” he repeated. “We’re going to lock up.”
“Oh,” she said, frowning slightly as her impaired brain tried to sort out his words. “Right,” she said finally. “Well, I’ll just go then, won’t I?”
“Can I call you a cab?” he asked, because she still had not moved from her seat. He waved a hand at the two waiters and the other barman, indicating that he would lock up and they could go home.
She looked at him, her eyes still slightly unfocused.
“To take you home,” he explained. “You shouldn’t drive.”
“Did I come with a car?” she asked, bewildered. “I hope not. I don’t own a car. Did I steal one?”
He grinned. This was fun. Normally drunk people just annoyed him a bit, but this girl struck a chord somewhere in his chest he’d never known to exist.
“Not that I know of,” he said. “How did you get here?”
“I must have walked,” she said, puzzled. “From work. Fancy that.”
“What work do you do?” he asked as Rod, one of the waiters, closed the door behind the other staff members.
“I’m a libal; librali; a li bra rian,” she said, looking quite pleased with herself for managing the word. Fancy that indeed, he thought, his mind going into immediate overdrive at the mention of her career. Like many, many men, he harbored a secret Librarian Fantasy. Even the way she broke it up into syllables didn’t diminish the thoughts running though his head.

The job suited her perfectly, he thought. She was cut out for the silence and air of wisdom and propriety that hung around the books like dusty clouds. He imagined being scolded by her for being too loud and grinned.

“Where do you live?” he wanted to know. He would help her home, call her a cab, and forget about her. She was not the type of librarian he fantasized about; she had glasses, but they were the wrong kind, and even though her hair was scraped back out of her face, there was nothing sexy about it. She wasn’t wearing nearly enough make-up and not at all the right kind of clothes, either. She was just a girl, hiding behind stacks of books. Her fingers were unadorned, and he guessed her to be single. She probably had four or five cats and a vibrator named Bob hidden in her nightstand that she rarely used because it made her feel guilty.

“Up the street, I think,” she said, pointing vaguely with her fingers. “That way. You have pretty eyes.”
He lifted an amused brow. ‘That way’ would take him to the kitchen and eventually, an alleyway behind the building.
“How about an address?” he asked. “To give to the cab-driver.”
He grabbed a paper napkin and a pen. She wrote slowly, carefully, her handwriting still managing to be neater than his illegible scrawl.
“You don’t live far from me,” he said, lying smoothly. “Just one block south, to be precise. Would you like a lift home?”
“Never get in the car with strangers,” she said firmly.
“A cab driver is also a stranger,” he pointed out.
“Not the same thing.”
“Nope. But on second thought, I’m not sure you’ll find a cab in this weather.”
“That’s right,” she said, smiling broadly for the first time. The expression transformed her face from plain to pretty. Her innocence amused and tickled him. “It’s snowing. Like a White Christmas.”
He couldn’t help it. He grinned; it was January. She wasn’t just drunk, she was completely sloshed. But still amazingly stable and logical.

“Let’s get you home,” he said, coming around the bar to help her from the stool. This was not something he ever did. He owned the bars; how the patrons got home was their problem, not his. But he couldn’t just leave this girl to her own devices, not unless he wanted the next time he heard about her to be her name in an obituary. She’d probably fall asleep in the cold right outside his bar and die. It would cause all sorts of unwanted paperwork and police questions.

She didn’t even need his help standing up. The liquor, it seemed, had not affected her balance one bit. Still, he kept a hand on her back to steer her. He locked up behind them while she stood looking at him through her wide, trusting eyes.
“You’re really tall,” she said. “I wish I was taller.”
“You’re the perfect height,” he said. “See? My arm fits right round your shoulders. You’re like a portable armrest.”
She didn’t giggle at that, and he wondered of she’d heard him. It was a pretty lame joke, but in his experience, drunk people will laugh at anything.
“I wish I was hot,” she said. “Like you. But not like you. Like a girl. Then maybe I could have sex.”
He coughed, choking on his breath, the way some people trip over their own feet.
“What?” he asked when he finally had the air back in the right pipes.
“I wish I was prettier,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’m not being pessimistic, really. I just; well, no use crying for the moon, is there?”
“You are pretty,” he said automatically. She sighed.
“I’m not. But thank you for pretending, anyway. Oh, my goodness, it’s cold.”
He had just opened the back door and yes, it was cold indeed. The wind was blowing sheets of snow into their faces and heaping it against the side of the building. He steered her with one hand in the direction of his car, which was parked under the staff-members-only roof.

He cranked up the heater and took the drive slowly and carefully. The cold was making her drowsy, and he could see her head drooping slightly. No doubt the drinks were finally taking effect.
“I take it you don’t drink often?” he said.
“Nope,” she said, pulling the edges of her rather ugly coat closer around her. “I’ve never been drunk before.”
Until tonight, he thought, but he waited for her to continue on her own. After a few seconds, she did.
“I’m sort of a virgin,” she said.” By choice. But it’s not my choice.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Technically I’m no longer one. But I’ve never been with a man, you know?”
Well, he certainly knew now. But his years as a barman had taught him when to listen and when to talk. So he kept quiet.

“Well, anyway, I always thought it was because I’m too shy. Men don’t like that, right?”
“Some do,” he said, because what else could he say?
“Liar,” she said fondly. “Nobody wants to be with somebody who’s ashamed of themselves. I know I wouldn’t like that in a man, so I can hardly expect any man to show interest in me. That’s why I went out tonight,” she added after a few seconds. “Too see if drinking helps me get loose. Turns out I’m even boring when I’m drunk.”

“You’re not boring,” he said firmly. “You just need to learn how to fake it. Everybody is secretly self-conscious. Some just hide it better that others. You need to find a way to pretend. If you can convince yourself, you know other people will believe it.”
“I don’t think I’d know how,” she said. “I’m no good at acting or pretending or lying. I can’t even lie to telephone sales people. “
“I’ll help you,” he said impulsively. “I’ll show you how to fake it.”
“Really?”
“Sure. When you’re sober. Anything I teach you now will be wasted.”
“Like me,” she sighed. “I’m wasted, and all I want to do is go to bed. That’s my building up there.’
“That’s a gas station,” he said with a grin.
“Oh.” She frowned. “Then it’s not my building, is it?”
“I sincerely hope not.”

They found her building eventually, tucked away between a tall, scary-looking block of flats and a three-story bridal boutique. He helped her out of the car and up the steps. It took her three times to key the right series of numbers into the keypad so the door would open. Finally, she recited them to him to read it in.

“Thank you,” she said awkwardly. “For the lift, and the ear.”
He grinned. “No problem,” he said. “Hey, what’s your name?”
“Emily,” she said.
Emily. It suited her perfectly, as if her parents had had a glimpse of her in the future when they named her. She looked like an Emily more than anybody else he’d ever met.
“I’m Brandon,” he said. “Can I pick you up tomorrow around noon for your first lesson?”
“Lesson?”
“In faking it.”
It occurred to him then that ‘faking it’ might refer to something else as well, but he always made damn sure a girl does not need to fake it when she’s with him. Not that he planned to have sex with her. This girl’s second name was Complication. It would be cruel to pluck her cherry and then be off on his merry way. She was not the type to come; and then go.
“Okay. Wanna come up?”

He considered saying no, but realized she might need help to get into her apartment. It seemed her brain had simply been behind on its reaction, and she was finally in the clumsy imbalance phase of drunkenness.
She might get hurt, or lost, or wind up asleep on a hallway chair somewhere.
“Sure,”’ he said.

It was three interesting flights of stairs. She only almost-fell seven times, even with his arm around her waist. She was still incessantly polite, apologizing profusely and telling him how pretty he was.
Yeah, because that’s what every guy secretly wants to be. Pretty.

He had to take her keys and unlock the door himself. She was toppling over and had to hold onto the wall with both hands to keep from introducing her ass to the ground. It was a good thing she was wearing sensible flats rather than sexy heels, and he had to be the first guy ever to have that particular thought.
“There we go,” he said when he finally got the door open. She would need to get a locksmith to take a look at the thing; the key had stuck a bit, as if the mechanism inside was rusty.

Her house surprised him. He had unconsciously expected it to be decorated like something from the Victorian Era; Chintz and flowers, frilly and stuffy. Chokingly girly. It wasn’t. Oh, it was undeniable a female place, but it was feminine rather than girlish. The door opened into the sitting room, which had a sage green couch with big white pillows and lampshades. The lavender curtains had been drawn against the cold air and what was probably a dreary scene outside. The art against the walls was lovely; no modern skyscrapers with red splashes to indicate blood and lust, or wriggling shapes than reminded him of female sex organs during ovulation.

A small little galley kitchen on the right showed no dirty dishes in the sink, and a gleaming espresso machine on the countertop next to an equally gleaming microwave.
He half-carried, half-dragged her to the only other door, guessing it to be the bedroom.

It was, and here was more proof of neat, uncluttered taste. The room was tiny, with built-in cupboards and barely enough space to walk around the bed to the bathroom on the other side.
“You gonna kiss me now?” she asked when he helped her onto the bed and slid a pillow under her head.
“Sure, thing, honey,” he said as he switched on the bedside lamp so he could turn off the harsh overhead fixture. “In a minute, okay? You just wait right there.”
He made sure she wasn’t too close to the edge to roll off and brought her a glass of water from the kitchen. He found Advils in her bathroom cabinet, along with some make-up and an unopened packet of condoms. Pity stirred his heart. She was well and truly lonely, wasn’t she? All cosseted in her small little apartment, hiding behind books and pretty paintings. So far he hadn’t seen any sign of a cat, but maybe the building didn’t allow pets.

He found a heater and turned it up. She was lying suspiciously still on her side, one arm flung out to the side. He tucked it into a more comfortable position. It was the desire to get her comfortable as much as curiosity that made him wait until she was deeply asleep, or, more likely, passed out, before he pulled her coat off to reveal her body.

She was small, and firm, and the only word he could think of to describe her was neat. She was utterly non-descript. She had tits, but they were just there, situated on her chest much in the way a nose is situated more or less in the middle of a face. He doubted he’d notice them if he saw her in the line at the grocery store other than for the obvious reason; they were female tits, and therefore bound to be noticed, even if they did not get a second look. They were completely average tits. He couldn’t see much, as she was wearing a creamy beige sweater that had clearly been bought with an eye on heat rather than hotness, and brown slacks that sat loose around her legs and revealed nothing about what her body looked like.
He shook his head as he slipped her shoes from her feet and considered doing her another favor and tossing them in the trash. They were butt-fuck-ugly. He hated sensible shoes on a woman.

He pulled the quilt over her body and since he had some experience with drunk people, found a plastic bucket in her kitchen to put next to her bed. She seemed to have missed the psychedelic-yawn, porcelain-god-worshipping part of the evening, but judging by the fact that her body seemed to have its own ideas of how to react to alcohol, he wasn’t taking anything for granted. She would hate herself if she woke up in the morning, only to find she’d puked all over her pretty, plush white carpet. Who bought white carpets anyway? Wasn’t that like a direct invite to Karma and Murphy and all those other sadistic creatures who makes people spill coffee just after they get dressed in a new shirt, or back their car into a lamp pole the first time they take it out for a drive?

He left a piece of paper with the instructions to drink the tablets and the water next to the glass and went back downstairs, only to tread back up when he couldn’t find his keys in his pocket.
It wasn’t in the living room either, nor anywhere else in her house that he could find. He went as far as opening her underwear drawer (he really was desperate, after all,) and was not too surprised that they weren’t there. He was pleasantly surprised, however, that the librarian lady had quite good taste in underwear. He didn’t touch any of the pretty lace and satin snips of fabric, but he could imagine them on her easily enough, and it made for a pretty image.

He finally located his keys; sitting in the ignition of his car, the doors firmly locked against him.
“Son of a bitch!” he said, slamming a frustrated hand onto the snow-covered roof. “Dammit!”
He took his phone from his pocket and tried to call a cab company to come get him and take him home to get his spare key, but just as he got an operator his phone made a cheerful beep just before the battery died. He considered throwing the piece of shit into the nearest heap of snow, but figured that would be counterproductive.
He was stuck, and he’d be dammed if he was going to wait for the sun to rise outside on the streets, looking at a locked car.

He trudged back upstairs, grateful that he hadn’t been able to lock the door behind him and made himself at least semi-comfortable on Emily’s couch, and closed his eyes. By any luck he would be awake and gone long before Miss Emily found the courage to leave her bed. And when he left, he would stay gone. She probably won’t remember the impulsive promise he had made to help her get confidence, so she won’t be upset when he doesn’t show up. He already regretted the invitation; Emily the librarian was not the type of girl he needed to spend time with. She was too shy; she said so herself; and she dressed atrociously. Except for her underwear, of course. She was plain, bordering on dowdy, a self-proclaimed virgin, (whatever she had meant by technically) and she had you’re-going-to-break-my-heart written all over her.

She was a librarian, for goodness sake. That was a species of women best suited to the porn industry, where they wore impractical high-heeled pumps and button down shirts with sexy glasses and tight skirts. If you put Emily in

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One Silent Night: Part 1
17 aug· Steamy-Stories
A Christmas Miracle brings them together.
by horny pixy. Listen to the ► Podcast at Connected.
Carter has been in love with Mia for years, but it takes a Christmas miracle to throw them together.
Carter stood by his window, one eye on the watch on his wrist. It was just after eleven, that magical hour when most of the traffic died down and the neighborhood in the old downtown area settled in for the night, the quiet creeping through the air with the mist from the small stream to the west of his apartment. Across the road he could see some early Christmas decorations, but he knew that the real lighting up would start in about two weeks.
She would be along soon.
He shifted the threadbare curtain a little to the side and tried to peer down the street, attempting to see her approach sooner, but he knew she would appear around the corner as always, and that he would have no chance to look at her neat little form until she does. He looked at his watch. Another minute had passed.
She would be along soon.
He fretted restlessly when the minutes continued to trickle away, like the incessant dripping of droplets in the back of his mind; a tap that didn’t quite close all the way.
She would be along soon.
And then, finally, she was there. His hands tightened around the folds of the curtain as he watched her round the corner, his very being tightening up in anticipation as his eyes followed her hungrily. She was wearing her dark, mid-thigh-length coat, and he could see her shapely leg taking carefully measured steps.
Her head was bent down, as always, obscuring her features, and he wondered once again what he would see if she looked up. He knew a little about her, her skin was milky pale in comparison to her dark coat. Her hair was also dark, cut in a straight, no-frills bob that reached her chin and was usually tucked away behind her ear. Her arms were always folded across her chest, as if she was trying to get away from her surroundings by climbing into herself. She was a picture of despondency and hopelessness as she walked down the pavement, the mist from the river swirling around her legs with ghostlike tendrils.
She was breaking his heart.
He followed her with his eyes, knowing her pattern well. Under the next streetlamp she would stop, bend over to adjust her shoe in the weak glow, and then continue around the corner to wherever she was going. And he would have to wait until tomorrow to see her again. What did it say about him, about how low he’d sunk, that these two minutes of watching an unknown girl walk down the street was the culmination of all his hopes and dreams? That his every day was spent in a state of endless waiting, waiting? He was forever waiting for something, for the night to be over so he can get up, for the shops to open so he can struggle down the stairs with his bad knee screaming in protest to buy coffee and a microwave dinner. For the afternoon to pass so he could sit on the small little balcony his apartment was outfitted with and watch the sun set over the dingy part of the city horizon he was privy to.
He watched her as she stopped on cue, her fingers busily tweaking at the straps of her shoes. More than anything, he was always, always waiting for her.
She got up after a few seconds and his eyes followed her as she proceeded down the street, her pace a little faster now, as if she was suddenly aware of the hour and the fact that she was a pretty girl, walking alone. When he could no longer see her, he pulled the curtains in place and turned around, facing the dingy apartment he owned.
And deep down, he knew, the longest wait of all was the countdown of years that would mark the end of his miserable existence.
The Waitress
“What can I get for you?” Mia asked the two men who were sitting in a booth in the back. They were both dressed in similar casual attire, jeans, dark jackets, sneakers, but she knew without asking that they were cops. They had that shrewd look in their eyes, the restless air of inquisitive minds.
Her shoulders tingled and she forced herself not to twitch nervously. They were just out for a meal, maybe discussing a breakthrough or a dead-end in a recent case. Nothing to worry about. Cops and officers came in here all the time for coffee and doughnuts and meals.
They are not looking for you. They are not looking for you. They are not looking for you.
She chanted her mantra repeatedly in her mind as her fingers scribbled down their order. It was never wise to allow cops, or anybody else, for that matter, to sense your fear. It gave them reason to start questioning things she preferred to remain unquestioned, what’s your name? Where are you from?
Her feet were killing her. Her swollen ankle was throbbing from her earlier slip on a wet floor, and she wanted nothing more than for the day to end so she could go home to Nikita. Her back was no longer aching as much as burning from carrying the heavy trays back and forth, the pain a constant companion in her lower back. She shot a quick glance at the clock on the wall behind the counter as she unloaded dirty dishes in the sink and swiped her tray down where a cup had left a ring. It was a few minutes to ten, closing time was ten thirty, so she had a while to go yet. Angelo had gotten one of the girls to wrap threadbare tinsel around the clock and cash register. Despite the fact that it was clearly older than the shop, it was still ugly and gaudy, a glittery, cheap string of false cheer that did nothing but highlight the shop’s worn-down visage.
She ended her shift at ten thirty with an argument with Angelo, the owner and manager, who wanted her to stay for ‘stock taking’, his term for sexually harassing the girls when there was nobody around to help them. She refused and, as a result, lost her job.
Her heart sank at the idea of finding something new, again. How much longer? she wondered as she packed the things from her locker, over into her bag. How much longer was she going to struggle through life like this? Every day was a fight to survive. There were bills to be paid, a house to clean, a little sister to care for. Somebody needed to put food on the table, needed to make sure the police didn’t discover them and send them back to;
Not going to happen, she thought. No matter what happened, they were never going back to that dark, dark place they’d escaped from six years ago. She was twenty-three now, old enough by law to become her sister’s legal guardian, if they needed to take a legal route for any reason. She could only hope that would never happen. If there was ever any questions, any queries, she would pack up their things and they would leave. Again. They’d done it before, when it seemed necessary, it was so easy to disappear into the night, after all.
She clutched the black carry-all that held an extra shirt, some clean socks, a comb and a few tampons in case she ever needed them unexpectedly. The cheap second-hand cell phone was stashed in the pocket of her coat, where she could feel it vibrate if Nikita phoned her.
She was in a bigger hurry than usual, walking as fast as she could on her sore ankle, and looking around her edgily. The shadows seemed denser, the streetlights dimmer, the air quieter.
She hated this part of the city during the night. It was dark and it smelled like old trash and the murky, filthy water of the little stream on the other side of the dilapidated railing.
She was being stupid, Mia decided. She has been walking this route every night for the past three years, and nothing has ever happened to her before.
She swallowed her fear and walked out from under the tree. The rest had not done her ankle good. It was cooling down and stiffening up and she winced each time she stepped on it. She limped around the corner that would take her down the semi-nice street with the old buildings. Most of them had been townhouses in their hey-days, but they had fallen into slight disrepair since. She imagined living in one of them. It would be warm, and the roof wouldn’t leak in eleven places every time it rained. In the winter, she would light a fire in the living room, and she and Nikita would sit in front of it.
And maybe the sky would rain money and Unicorns soon.
Carter’s 3-Year Dilemma
Carter managed to convince himself not to watch for her again. How much longer was he going to wait for a miracle that was not going to happen? His dark-haired girl was never going to do anything else except walk past his building. He’d considered going downstairs at eleven more times than he could count, but three guesses as to how she would react to a man waiting to talk to her at that time of night. He had tried to follow her a few times, but his knee was so bad that he couldn’t keep up, not without being seen. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her into taking a different route. She was his fantasy, his perfect vision of innocence and beauty and hope. No matter how the weather looked, whether it was a balmy spring evening, or an icy cold snowing one, she walked down his street every single night. He’d been watching her for close to three years now, and he knew that she was off one Sunday a month, always the last one.
He wished, for the hundredth time, that he knew more about her. He wanted to know where she worked, wanted to know her name. Was she married, maybe, with a kid?
It was a moot point, in any case. Even if she wasn’t married, she wouldn’t waste her time on somebody like him, jobless and injured beyond repair, with nothing to give her but his name and an old apartment that used to belong to his grandmother.
He forced himself to stay seated as the clock ticked closer to eleven. It was ridiculous, this fascination of his with a girl he’s never even met. He spent his time building fantasies around her in which she needed his help, and in his dream world, his knee was still in its pre-explosion condition. He was still fit and strong, a Navy Seal who could do anything he set his mind to.
Forcing himself to be realistic, he took a swallow from the beer he rarely indulged in. She was probably married, or living with somebody. Probably had a kid, and took a night job so that she could spend time with the little one during the day. She was probably perfectly happy with her life, and this desire to rescue her was a left-over emotion from his SEAL days where being a hero was part of the job description.
He missed his team.
And there it was, the crux of the matter. He missed his team, his friends, almost more than he missed the mobility that had been stolen from him in that awful explosion four years ago. So far, he’d beaten the odds, but for the past couple years, he hadn’t made any progress beyond walking with the help of a crutch. After his time in the hospital and physiotherapy rehab center ran out, he moved back to the city where he had grown up. It was as far away from the base as he could find, and he had needed the distance at the time, not to mention the rent-free apartment his grandmother had lived in until she passed away.
But now, after months of seclusion, the truth was finally sinking in. He was never going to be able to run through jungles and over desert dunes again. His days of scaling mountains and hiding out yards away from the enemy camps were over. No matter how hard he worked, his leg was never going to be up to it again. He was going to have to consider those options the psychologist had tried to talk to him about.
His mouth thinned. Private security: where SEAL careers go to die.
He managed to avoid the window until just after eleven, when he couldn’t take it anymore and he stood up, cursing himself for his weakness.
A few minutes later, the girl came around the corner. Carter felt the familiar constriction of his heart as the streetlight casted a dull glow around her dark hair. She was limping tonight, favoring her right leg, and carrying a black bag in one hand. He frowned, watching her progress with concern. She was definitely stepping gingerly, and she was moving much slower than usual. So much so that he would probably be able to keep up with her if he followed her.
Carter made the decision in less than a second. Grabbing his crutch and a jacket, he left his apartment.
On the street
It happened in the darkness under the overhanging branches of a gnarled old tree, where the searching fingers of light could not reach. The gap in the pavement where two slabs of concrete had pulled away from each other snagged at the sneaker on her injured foot and she pitched forward with a sharp cry of pain. She landed awkwardly on all fours, and the sting of scraped palms joined the pain in her foot. She gave a tearless sob and uttered a few choice swearwords. She must look a sight indeed, down on all fours with one leg elevated in the air behind her at an awkward and unattractive angle.
“Are you all right?”
The voice behind her came from absolutely nowhere. Mia swung around as much as was possible for a human in the dog-near-a-fire-hydrant-position and ended up landing on her ass. She scrambled back and saw the man limping closer. From her position on the ground, it seemed as if he was a giant, rising out from the mist, leaning heavily on a crutch and yet managing to walk without making a sound.
“I don’t have a lot of money on me,” she said, holding her black carry-all up like an offering. “But take what I have. Just please don’t hurt me.” Panic tightened her voice.
“I don’t want you money,” he said, stopping at a safe distance from her and holding out his hands to show he was unarmed. “And I’m not going to hurt you.”
His voice was deep and soothing, somehow managing to calm her nerves.
“Let me help you up,” the stranger continued. He came closer and held his hand out. She hesitated a few seconds before letting him haul her up. She dusted her palms on her jacket, felt the sting of asphalt cutting into her skin like pieces of brittle glass. The enormous man held onto her elbow as she balanced on one leg.
“Thanks,” she said stiffly. “I hurt my ankle earlier tonight and I tripped on the pavement. I’m fine now, thank you.”
He didn’t reply and for the first time, she looked at his face. The faded street lights were casting mysterious planes over his face, highlighting his features. He had dark hair about a week overdue for a cut, and from what she could see, a strong nose and chin. His eyes appeared to be dark and intense, and his cheekbones were just high enough to make him handsome. His lips, however, looked soft and full and like an exotic dish, one you needed to serve up with strawberries and chocolate sauce and whipped cream and what on earth was she doing, thinking about his mouth like she wanted a taste?
A sudden, unexpected dimple made its way to surface when he gave a small crooked smile, and suddenly he looked much younger.
“My name is Carter,” he said, as if it was important to him that she knew who he was. “I live in that building over there. See the balcony? That’s my apartment. I hurt my knee a few years back and it was bothering me tonight, so I decided to take a short stroll around the block. Saw you falling down. Why don’t you let me have a look at your ankle? What’s your name?”
“Mia,” she said.
“Mia,” he murmured, and for a single moment, it seemed as if he was tasting her name on his tongue, rolling it around his palate like a fine wine he wanted savor and appreciate. He led her over to the railing, and she balanced against it as he got down with some difficulty to examine her foot.
“Do you have first aid experience?” she asked when he started to prod lightly at her swollen ankle. He held her heel and rotated her foot slightly. She gasped, instinctively yanking back when pain shot through her leg.
“Easy,” he soothed, softly stroking. “It’s a really bad sprain. I used to be a hospital corpsman for the Navy SEALS, so I’ve seen my fair share of injuries.”
“You were a SEAL?” she asked and closed her eyes as the touch of his fingers on her leg sent tingles dancing over her skin. His hands were so soft, so gentle, as he tested the tightness of her shoe around the swelling.
“Yeah, but I screwed up my knee in an explosion so I’m no longer active. Listen, you need to get off your foot. It must be killing you.”
“It’s painful,” she admitted. “But I’m not too far from home.”
“Is there anybody who can fetch you?”
“No, only my sister and she’s too young to drive. Not to mention that we don’t own a car. Ouch, dammit, that hurt!”
“Sorry,” he said and got up. “Look, how far do you live?”
Mia looked at him. How far could she trust this man? She didn’t know him, but he seemed; kind, somehow. Gentle.
“About two miles,’ she admitted, and at his glower, looked down at her hands. She got the sense he was angry with her for some reason.
“I’m not letting you walk that far on an injury like that. Why don’t you let me drive you home?”
Trusting somebody to help you up after a fall was one thing, but getting into a car with a stranger, leading him to her sister; that would be stupid, and reckless, and many other things she couldn’t afford to be.
“Thank you, but I’ll just call a cab.”
He nodded once. “Come wait inside, at least,” he said. “I’ll give you some ice and painkillers.”
She hesitated as the logical part of her mind warred with the part that was in pain and wanted nothing more than to get off her foot, have some painkillers and let somebody else make the decisions for once.
“All right,” she said after a few seconds. “Thank you very much.”
He tried to see his apartment through her eyes, and wasn’t sure what to think. It was small, with an open plan kitchen and living room that was separated by a breakfast counter that held stacks of books on the one side. There were three doors leading from the sitting room. Though it was reasonably clean and neat and didn’t scream ‘poverty,’ it was a clear exhibit of his lack of funds.
She was glancing around anxiously, her eyes darting from his TV to the front door and back to the kitchen, where the dishes were piled neatly in the sink. He saw them linger for a few seconds on the three doors that lead out of the living room and sensed her fear of being trapped. She reminded him of a little animal, cornered and shivering, waiting to be attacked by a predator.
“The bathroom’s through there,’ he said, pointing. “Those two doors lead to the bedrooms. Don’t worry, I set up the torture chamber in the basement.”
He expected her to laugh at his lame joke, wanted to lift her mood, but she just gave a small, tight smile and clutched her tote bag closer to her body.
“Sit here,” he said, cupping one hand under her elbow and leading her to a comfortable wingback chair. “You have an interesting accent,” he said as he went into the kitchen to switch on the coffee machine that was his only indulgence. “It’s very faint, but I have an ear for languages. Are you from Europe?”
She was silent for a few seconds before replying. “My family came to America when I was very young. But yes, I was born in Europe.”
“Your accent is almost Slavic,” he said. “But not Russian. Not quite.”
She didn’t offer any further information, so he pressed. “Are you from Poland?”
“No,” she said, reluctantly. “Georgia.”
“It borders Russia and Turkey, doesn’t it?”
“I; yes. Yes, it does. You’re good with this.”
“Simple matter of geography. So how old were you when you left?”
“I was five.”
He did the quick math. “So you must have left in the time of the civil war in the early nineties.”
She nodded her head and he watched the movement play with her hair. “We first went to Poland, and from there made our way here. My stepfather had some; business associates that
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Miller’s Cove Naturalist Club
16 aug· Steamy-Stories
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The Librarian: Part 4
16 aug· Steamy-Stories
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The Librarian: Part 4
16 aug· Steamy-Stories
Tough Guy.
by horn pixy. Listen to the ► Podcast at Connected.
“What do you think?” he asked as she lifted the glass to her lips. She took a sip and her tongue tasted a drop that was left behind on her bottom lip.
“Not bad,’ she said. “Not bad at all, barman. Got any other surprises for me?”
“Sure do. Just come round back and step into my office for a minute or so.”
Ignoring the looks of his staff as he abandoned them to the crush of too many customers, he lifted the counter for her to follow him behind the bar. His hand low on her back, he guided her into the back of the building, to the room that housed his office. There was a solid wooden desk with a chair on each side and a computer stand on the other side. He closed and locked the door behind him and stood with his hands in his pockets as she surveyed the room.
“I don’t see any hidden cameras,” she said, sounding almost disappointed.
His eyebrows shot into the air. “You want to be caught on camera?”
“Of course not,” she said, letting her handbag drop negligently on the couch that was stacked with papers and the other debris of running a business. “I can’t afford any blackmail material. I have a very, very possessive boyfriend.”
Her fingers stroked down his chest as she spoke, and he shifted his body to get a little closer to her. “He would kill you if he knew about tonight.”
Brandon’s eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch.
“Tough guy?”
“The toughest,” she purred as she started undoing the buttons on his white shirt. “Big, scary guy.”
“Are you trying to make me jealous?” he asked as his hands found her ass and pulled her tight against him, letting him feel the hard ridge between their bodies.
“Maybe,” she said. “Is it working?”
“My girlfriend would claw your eyes out,” he whispered against her temple. “She looks tame, but she can be a real wild animal sometimes.”
“I can take her,” the girl said, smiling confidently and tipping her face up for a kiss. Brandon didn’t comply immediately, choosing to taste that spot under her ear women always ruined with perfume.
Not this one. He could taste nothing but pure, unadulterated female skin as he touched the tip of his tongue to the spot.
“No marks,” he heard her husky murmur. “My boyfriend can’t find out.”
“I’ll mark you if I want to,” he said, settling his lips tight over that sweet spot and suckling hard, drawing the blood to the surface of her perfect, unmarred skin for a proper hickey.
“You bastard,” she gasped and tried to pull away. Brandon tightened his hold and laved the bruise with his tongue before continuing down the line of her jaw. He found a little beauty spot near the corner of her mouth and played with it for a few seconds before settling his lips over hers with deliberate possession.
Mine, he thought as his hands sought out the curves of her ass and cupped them. He pulled her against him and lifted her until her feet were no longer touching the ground. She put her arms around his neck and pressed her body closer to his, her tits pressing hot and soft against his chest. He pressed her back against the door of his office, ignoring her hiss of pain as the handle bit into her hip. She hitched her legs around his waist and he settled into the apex between her thighs like he belonged there. His hands held her in place as he started grinding against her with a slow, rocking motion, his hips moving and his fingers clenching her ass cheeks.
“Oh,” she gasped when his cock pressed hard and tight against her. Her hands were busy with his buttons and his collar, trying to get rid of his shirt. He pressed a hungry kiss against her lips, slipping his tongue over that plump flesh and tasting the drink he’d made for her. She kept her lips pressed closely together, making him work for it. He punished her by nipping on her bottom lip, not hard enough to draw blood, but definitely hard enough to make her gasp in shock and surprise. He took advantage of that, slipping his tongue into her mouth and taking what he wanted, branding her with his kiss. He angled his head and deepened the kiss and there was something dark and desperate about the way their mouths and bodies moved together. He drew her tongue out of her mouth and sucked on it, swallowing her responsive moan. Her hands were moving restlessly, testing the strength of his shoulders, one of them cupping the back of his head and fisting in his hair. He broke the kiss when oxygen became a problem, and they were both breathing heavily when he pressed his face into the curve of her neck, pressing open-mouthed kissed to that meeting of neck and shoulder. He pulled away and angled his hips closer to the wall to brace her against the wall while his hands started pulling at the straps holding the dress together like a corset. His fingers were almost shaking with the strength of his need as he pulled at the tight knots. She was pressing kisses everywhere she could touch him; his forehead, cheeks, temples. He swore when he failed to loosen the ties and she laughed, a low throaty sound that had his cock hardening. She pushed herself away from him and he let her slide down to the floor reluctantly.
“Why don’t you go sit and let me entertain you?” she asked and he followed her instructions, settling himself down on the brown leather chair behind his desk. She picked up the drink he’d mixed for her and took a sip, her eyes smoky and seductively on his face as the corner of her mouth tilted in a sensuous smile. She dipped her finger into the drink and slipped it inside her mouth, sucking the juice. Brandon cleared his throat and got rid of the shirt that was still hanging off his shoulders. His hard-on was pressing uncomfortably against zipper of his Levis. With one hand, the girls swept the desk clean of papers. He watched in fascination as papers and ledgers hit the floor. The framed photo of him and Emily at a ski-resort crashed onto the floor, the glass shattering. He felt another tug of guilt as he looked at her laughing, trusting face. But then the dark-haired vixen walked around the desk, the shards of glass crunching under her shoes. She sat on the edge of the desk, and crossed her legs, the drink still in her hand.
The girl took the cherry he’d put in the drink with the vague hope that she might do exactly what she clearly about to do. She held it by the stem, just above her mouth. Brandon’s eyes were glued on the drop of moisture caught on the bottom, hanging suspended in the air. She held out the tip of her tongue and the drop landed on it. She drew her tongue into her mouth, tasting it. And then she began the seduction in earnest. Her tongue teased around the round bulbous head, licking and tasting and flicking it skillfully. She sucked on it lightly, not hard enough to crush it. She drew it over her lips, across her chin and followed the line down to her cleavage. She slipped it into the sweet valley between her tits and with a small movement of her shoulders, dislodged it from the stem.
“Fuck,” Brandon breathed in an awed voice as she put the stem inside her mouth. He could see the movement of her tongue and it took only a few seconds to knot it.
He hoped fervently that she would use that skillful tongue on his cock soon.
“I seem to have lost the cherry,” she said. “Will you help me look for it?”
He reached for her eagerly, but she leaned back and put one foot against his chest, the heel of her shoe biting into his flesh a little.
“Not yet, naughty boy,” she said and pushed her leg. The wheels of the chair propelled him backwards a little and she smiled a little.
She tugged at the strip of satin he had been struggling with and it came loose with ease. Her tits pushed against the material and it shifted, allowing him a glimpse of those soft globes of flesh. He thought he caught a flash of red, but then she moved her arms to start getting rid of the dress. He watched the line as the straps slid down her shoulders, baring her more completely while framing her delectable body. Her fingers tugged slowly and the string that held it all together slid from its hooks. The material popped open, but the half-cup bra she was wearing was still holding her tits pressed against each other. His hands itched to cup them and test their weight and he couldn’t wait to bury his face between them.
He touched her ankle and stroked it, knowing exactly where to press his thumbs to make her squirm. His hands moved up her leg, using it as leverage to pull his chair closer to the desk. He put both hands on her legs and caressed the skin on the inside of her knees. He pressed them slightly away from each other and slid his fingers higher, marveling at the softness that covered her firm muscles. He reached the edge of the dress and he pressed it higher, until it pooled in her lap. She leaned back on her elbows and lifted her hips a little to help him push the tight dress over her ass. The erotic sight of her hips lifting, her legs opening wider nearly undid him, but he clamped down on his desire and settled for stroking her thighs when she grabbed the hem of her dress with both hands crossed in front of her and pulled it up and over her head. It mussed up her hair a little and she dropped the material on the floor behind the desk without a care.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his eyes roaming hungrily over her body, taking in the smooth, flat planes of her stomach, with only the smallest and most natural rounding between her hipbones. Even those creepy dolls in the shops had those bumps nowadays. He cupped it possessively with one hand, his thumb stroking the line of the low-cut thong she was wearing. It was black lace and had clearly been designed to be as improper as possible, because it didn’t hide any of her pretty female treasures from his view.
He drank in the sight of her full, naturally rounded hips, so perfect for holding onto, and her soft tits, pushing against the bra that was doing a very poor job of keeping them contained. It matched the panties and he found himself devouring her body with his eyes. She was all female curves and seductress and feminine vulnerability rolled up into one delicious package. He put his hands on her knees and pushed her legs further apart to make way for his body. He kissed her stomach, an open-mouthed, mindless kiss as his tongue traced circles on her skin. She leaned back again when his hands found the straps of her panties. She lifted her hips again to help him, but Brandon had lost patience and gave a quick yank, tearing the delicate lace. She gasped as he threw the scrap of material over his shoulder. The scent of her arousal filled his senses and he leaned down to touch his mouth to her hairless mound. She stroked her fingers through his hair when he pushed her down onto her back with one hand. He trailed kisses down her thigh, lifting her leg so he didn’t have to move away from her warm, inviting body. He kissed the back of her knee and while her attention was fixed on the things his tongue was doing to that erotic spot, he slid a finger into her sweet wet folds. She gasped and jerked in surprise, and her foot hit him against the side of his head, the heel of her shoe nearly taking his eye out.
“Damn, woman,” he grumbled. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“Not yet,’ she said remorselessly.
He abandoned his idea of kissing every inch of her luscious legs and went straight for desert. He hooked her knees over his shoulders and with this thumbs, opened the petals that hid her flower from him. She was perfect; puffy and pink and warm and wet and so damned pretty he could stare at her all day. Her outer lips were full and succulent, swollen with desire. The inner folds were delicate, like some lovely exotic rose. Her little nub was swollen and begging for attention. He complied, rubbing his finger over it a few times, softly, his touches light and fleeting and designed to drive her out of her mind. He dipped his finger in her moist entrance, gathering some of the juice pooled there and bringing it to her clit. He smeared it like a painter, admiring the glistening effect it had on her folds. She squirmed a little as he started playing, touching her in different ways and testing her reaction. He was surprised to find that her clit was more sensitive on one side than the other, and tortured her by concentrating on that spot. He felt like a little boy who had discovered a new toy and he had no intention of stopping his game any time soon. He pushed two fingers inside her opening, slowly to please them both and prolong the sensations that made her hips jerk. She swore when he found her g-spot and curled his fingers to linger there, stroking and pressing and driving her as crazy with desire as he was.
He decided to up it a notch, so to speak, and leaned down. He suckled one of her outer lips into his mouth, then the other, before flicking his tongue over her clit only once.
She used a word he didn’t think Emily had ever heard and pressed her crotch up against his face. He slid his tongue inside her entrance, tasting the sweet nectar and moaning at the taste of her essence. He started working her over with deliberate slowness, licking and tasting and cleaning her juices. She was begging him by the time he sucked her clit into his mouth, shameless pleas and promises that made him grin. He pulled at the little nub with his lips, nibbled it very lightly with his teeth and sucked it. She was pushing her cunt into his mouth, grinding his face helplessly as he tugged at her rhythmically.
“I’m going to come,” she warned when he started pumping his fingers in and out of her.
“Go ahead,” he said, his mouth full of the wild taste of her and his hands full of soft, straining curves. He kept her on the edge, knowing when to ease of and when to speed up, to keep her balanced on the brink of a shattering orgasm. Finally he relented and rubbed her clit with one finger while his mouth settled over the mouth of her opening and, sealing it tightly, started sucking hard and fast. She came on a keening cry as she tumbled down that edge in to the blinding abyss of pure, shattering pleasure. Her juices were warm as it poured out of her body straight into his mouth. He curled his tongue almost like a straw and sucked as much into his mouth as he could. It sounded peculiar; like a symphony of undeniably sex-related noises, but neither of them cared at that point. She was gasping for breath when he eased her legs of his shoulders, and they fell over the edge of the desk inelegantly.
“Oh my…” she wheezed. “That was amazing!”
“Thanks,’ he said, grinning as he used his shirt to wipe his face clean. He was covered in her cum.
“Just give me a few minutes, cowboy, and I’ll return the favor.”
His cock was likely to spurt the second he undid his pants at that point, so a few minutes sounded good to him. He walked around the desk to the mini-fridge behind the door. He took a bottle of beer and opened it, gulping down half the bottle in a few swallows. She struggled to sit up and he admired the way her tit jiggled when she moved, just the way he liked a woman’s boobs to jiggle. He couldn’t wait to have them in his hands, and couldn’t believe he hadn’t had them there yet.
She drank down some of her warming drink and followed him with his eyes as he undid the top button of his jeans to ease the pressure.
“Allow me,” she said and pushed him down in the chair. A few seconds later, she was kneeling between his legs. She teased him, drawing one white-tipped nail down the steel zipper, rasping it playfully. He watched her as she amused herself and bit back the impatience. He couldn’t afford to show any weakness with this woman; she was likely to use it against him shamelessly.
She opened his pants and helped his eager cock out of the little prison of too many layers of clothing. Finally it sprung free, hard as a rock and ready as an active volcano.
“Oh, yes,” she said, cupping both hands around his length. He hissed when she stroked him once, from base to tip.
“You are quite big, aren’t you?” she asked as she traced a bulging vein with her finger.
“I haven’t had any complaints yet,” he said from between his teeth.
“I can see why not. And so thick, too.”
She tugged a little as she stroked upwards, and he could feel the moisture of pre-cum leaking from his tip. Her thumb caught it and he looked as she slipped that digit into her mouth and sucked it clean.
“Hm,” she said appreciatively. Her hands started working him over in earnest and he closed his eyes as sensations battered him.
He felt the velvety wetness of her mouth and opened his eyes in time to see the head of his cock disappear between those cherry-lips of hers. She licked all around his bulbous head for a few seconds, getting him wet and slippery. After a while, she pushed her head down over him and Brandon groaned aloud. His hand curled around her head and fisted into her curls as she started bobbing her head up and down slowly, taking him deeper inch by inch, until he was buried as deep as she could take him. She picked up her pace a little, sucking while she bobbed, and he couldn’t help thrusting his hips to get deeper. She lifted her head and his cock jutted up, lining itself up with his belly. She took one of his balls into her mouth, cupping the other while she stroked him with her tongue.
When both his balls were wet and slick, she took his cock back into her mouth. This time she managed to deep throat him a few lovely times. He stared into her eyes and stroked her face as she sucked him off.
“I’m going to come soon, babe,’ he said. It was fair warning, after all. She redoubled her efforts, sucking harder and stroking with her hand to add to the pleasure. Her tongue was swirling around him, pressing against that sensitive spot at the base of his cock.
It undid him, and Brandon lost control for a few seconds, cupping her face in both hands and plunging his cock into her hard and fast until the cum spurted out of his cock and into her mouth. She swallowed convulsively around him and gagged a little. He was past the point of caring.
When it was over, he leaned back against the chair, gasping and almost shaking. His hand was still stroking her silky hair, which he had twined around his fingers at some point to hold her face down against his cock as he went in too deep. He forced his fingers to let go of her with some difficulty, as his brain struggled to send the correct commands to his hand.
“Are you all right?” he asked, concerned. She was using the same shirt he’d used to wipe her face. “I was a little rough back there.”
“Only a little. I’m fine, thanks.”
He grabbed the beer bottle he’d put on the desk and guzzled the rest. “You sure know how to give head,” he said, impressed.
“Practice makes perfect,’ she said and stood up, wincing as the movement made her knee crack. He smiled as she drowned the last of her drink.
“How was the screaming orgasm?”
She stared at the empty glass. “Not bad. I’d like another one, actually.”
He pulled her down to straddle him on the chair.
“Your wish is my command,” he said and kissed her. It was a tender kiss, but it became hotter as their tongues tangled, mixing the tastes of their respective cum and drinks. His fingers were combing through her dark curls and hers were grasping his shoulders. Finally she pulled away and his hands slid around her body to her back. He found the strap of her bra and undid it deftly. She lifted her arms and got rid of it impatiently. His hands rose to cup her tits.
“Oh, yeah,’ he breathed.
“What is it with men and boobs?” she asked, amused. “I’ve never had sex with a man who weren’t obsessed with them.”
He stared at her chest.
“They’re; boobs,” he said as if that explained everything. “Hey, I found the cherry.”
She laughed as he popped into his mouth. He bit into it and it burst open,
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My Coed Orienting Venture
15 aug· Steamy-Stories
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The Librarian: Part 3
15 aug· Steamy-Stories
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The Librarian: Part 3
15 aug· Steamy-Stories
Explorations Commence.
by horn pixy. Listen to the ► Podcast at Connected.
“My tongue?” she said, sounding a little squeaky.
“Yes, Emily. Slip it in my mouth.”
There was a moment of silence, and then she asked, “why?”
“I want to show you something delicious,” he said, and instead of the pity he might have expected when he realized that she had never done this, he only felt a primal, primitive male pride to be the one to teach her, to show her.
He felt her warm little tongue pressing hesitatingly against his lips and opened them, sucking it hard inside his mouth.
“Oh my,” she gasped; or tried to, anyway; and he grinned a little in pure satisfaction.
“Good, huh?” he asked after he let go.
“Uhm,” she muttered.
“Want to do it again?”
“Uhm,” she managed again. He slanted his mouth over hers and lapped at her tongue again, this time drawing it into his mouth. He suckled, hard, and she made a small, helpless little sound as both his hands started kneading her ass, covered with the stiff material of new jeans. He pressed her body harder against the door frame, desperate to have more of her. The kiss became urgent, and he realized the exact moment she stopped worrying about what to do and just let her body react, because suddenly it was even more perfect; her lips moving with his, her tongue meeting and thrusting against his, tasting and feeling and exploring. The sounds they were generating were loud in the stillness of the hallway; her moans, his groans, her sighs, his murmurs. Her accelerated breathing, his satisfied growls when she tested and tried something new, something that worked. They kept at it for a few more minutes; it might have been hours for, all he knew; and he dragged one hand up and into her hair.
“Ouch,” she gasped, and the fog lifted a little from his brain, enough to clear his mind for a few seconds, enough to make him realize that he was mauling her in the hallway.
“What?” he asked, and this time he was the one who felt dazed.
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “Just my head, against the doorframe. Please, continue with what you were doing. Don’t let me interrupt you…”
He laughed a little and pressed his forehead against hers, his eyes closed tightly as he tried to get a grip over his hormones. His cock was rock-hard by now, straining against the fly of his jeans. He wanted her so badly, wanted to sink into the softness that was Emily, the gentleness of her embrace. Wanted to teach her everything he knew about lovemaking, demonstrating over and over until she knew exactly what was the best way to fit tab B into slot A.
But she was new, and innocent, and as appealing as the idea was, the small part of his mind that was still capable of rational thought knew that taking her right now, braced against the doorway was not only incredibly stupid (due to the whole public aspect of the milieu) but also extremely selfish. She deserved to be taken slowly, gently, preferably with somebody who would take the time to show her everything she needed to know. And also, a bed would be nice.
“Just give me a minute,” he said, taking deep breaths.
“No! No, no, no! Don’t take a minute; you’re going to change your mind if you do!”
He laughed again. “Not bloody likely,” he said. “Just; just hold on a bit, okay?”
“Okay,” she murmured, circling her arms around his body and leaning against him. Her soft hair tickled his chin as she tucked her head in the crook of his neck. He pulled her inside the apartment and closed the door behind them, almost stepping on her glasses in the process. He picked them up and put them on a little table in the corner, and then turned to look at her.
She was standing with her hands folded in front of her, head bent down so that he couldn’t see her face.
She was radiating shyness, and uncertainty, and just a little bit rejection. Tenderness swirled in him again and he stepped closer to her, allowing himself one swift, hard kiss.
“Look at me,” he said. She lifted her head slowly and he smiled at her.
“You’re beautiful,” he said. “don’t even think of arguing with me, not even in your mind. Especially not in your mind. I won’t have anybody, least of all you, think otherwise. I won’t put up with that. You are lovely, and I want you so much it aches. But I want to do what’s right.”
“What would that be?” she whispered, and he cupped her neck, his thumb playing in the hollow of her throat.
“I don’t know,” he admitted ruefully. “Right now I just want to take you to bed, so my judgement is a little cloudy.”
“Do it,” she said. “Please, Brandon. Take me to bed. I’m so tired of wondering, of not knowing what sex is like. I want; I want to know, and I want to learn.” She was quiet for a second. “I want to feel.”
He searched her eyes. “Your first time should be with somebody special,” he objected, knowing that he wouldn’t leave unless she asked him to. Knowing exactly what would happen if he stayed. His beautiful, shy little librarian was about to ask him to make love to her, and he was powerless to deny her anything, least of all what she was offering. He was human, and male, after all.
Emily looked at him with her heart in his eyes. “You are special,’ she said after a few seconds. “You make me feel wanted. Wanton. You make me want to take you to the library and do something in the non-fiction section where nobody ever goes.”
He laughed, a raw sound that was being torn from him as his throat closed up. Had he really thought she would be unresponsive and boring?
“You have to be sure,” he said. “I’m not doing this if you’re not sure.
“I was sure the first time I saw you. I didn’t know what to say except, ‘a glass of whiskey, please’.”
“I’ve never seen a woman drink whiskey like you did before,’ he said with a little smile. “You just sat there, sipping glass after glass of Jameson without making a face, though I’m pretty sure you thought it was disgusting.”
“I hated it,” she admitted.” But I didn’t know what else to order, and I was too shy to ask your advice.”
He made a vow to himself to take her back to the bar one evening and let her have a sip of every single drink he had in stock, until she found something she likes. And then he would mix some cocktails, and teach her about shaken and stirred, and she would never have to drink whiskey alone in a bar again.
He kissed her then, a sweet kiss that wasn’t about passion as much as compassion. He had feelings for her. They were undeveloped yet, but he wasn’t about to deny their existence like some footloose bachelor, afraid of commitment. He didn’t know if it was the right thing, making love to her without giving her the chance to get to know him better, but he knew that he could no more let her go right now than he could cut off his own arm. So he stroked her hair, marveling at the silky feel as his lips taught her a few more secrets and his tongue tasted her again. He slid the strands through his fingers and pulled her head back to taste the skin on her neck.
She tipped her head willingly, giving him better access. He teased her earlobe, nibbling lightly and flicking it with his tongue before sucking it into his mouth. The silver hoop she was wearing was in his way, so he used his fingers to get rid of it. He tickled the sensitive area behind her earlobe and tasted the dryness of perfume she had dabbed there. It was bitter, and though it smelled like heaven, he wanted to taste Emily, so he traced a line down her neck and across her collarbone, following the line of an imaginary necklace with his tongue, until the last of the perfume had rubbed off on her skin and all he could taste was Emily. Sweet and unique and still a little bit scared.
He explored the hollow between her collarbones, taking his time over it. Her skin was like satin; smooth, silky, and so completely feminine. She moaned, a small sound in the back of her throat as she leaned helplessly against him, her hands around his head and her fingers tangled in his hair. She pulled at his head and he went willingly back to her mouth, to kiss and taste and take.
He was never going to get enough of her mouth, he though as he toyed with her lips and let her do the same to him.
She stepped away for a second and crossed her arms in front of her, pulling her sweater over her head in one smooth move. Brandon felt his breath catch in her throat when she stood in front of him in only her thin white chemise-like top and a lacy white bra that pushed her boobs together in the most perfect way imaginable. He stopped her hands when she wanted to take the top off and slid his hands over her body reverently. She was so warm, but despite the heat in the room her nipples were hard, beaded little nubs, straining against the honeyed fabric of her thin top.
He pulled one strap over her shoulder and tasted the skin he unveiled before reaching down and getting rid of the blasted thing completely. And then his hands were in the skin of her softly rounded, perfectly proportioned hips, and her skin was softer and smoother than the silk of the top that had fluttered to the ground and was now lying there, like a pool of sex, on the floor. Brandon looked her in the eyes, and she gazed back unflinchingly, despite the blush that stained her cheeks a delicious shade of pink. Her tits were spilling a little over the lace edge of her bra, something that the designer had undoubtedly taken great pains to accomplish. It was like… froth, he decided as he traced the edge of the material. Or the white foam on top of a wave as it rolled to shore.
He reached behind her, holding her gaze as he undid the clasp of her bra, the movement bringing their bodies together. She made a small sound when he stepped back deliberately and let the bra join the other clothes on the floor.
“You are so lovely,” he said, gazing at her body. She was so completely female, so gloriously, radiantly beautiful, and he couldn’t believe she was standing there, allowing him to desecrate her innocence. He cupped one of her tits, enjoying the way it spilled over his palm just a little. The tip was pale pink, like a very young rose just ready to bud open. He weighed a tit in each hand and was fascinated by the softness and fullness. His thumbs skated over the tips until they were even harder. He wanted to devour her, but this first time was not for him. It was for her, to feel and learn, and experience. To understand, to know, and to enjoy.
“Oh,” she gasped when he bent down and took one nipple into his mouth. Just for a second did he allow himself to be selfish and suckle on it, but then he pulled back and pressed a kiss right in the middle of her cleavage. She moaned a little and moved restlessly, but he didn’t relent. He kissed all over her tit, spiraling teasingly toward the nipple, knowing it would drive her crazy. He rubbed his cheek over the sensitive nub, abrading it lightly with his stubble-roughened skin and laving it unexpectedly with his tongue. He nipped lightly with his teeth, and she moaned again, slightly louder this time as he took his time nibbling it.
“Do what you did again,” she begged him breathlessly.
“And what was that?” he asked, teasing her by drawing his tongue round her nipple without touching it.
“What you did before,” she said incoherently.
“This?” he asked, licking over it once with his tongue flat.
“No,” she said, her head thrown back and her eyes closed.
“This, then?” he wanted to know, flicking it quickly.
“No! you know what I mean!”
He took pity on her. “Is this what you want?” he asked, drawing her into his mouth and suckling hard and sure, playing with his tongue around the tip as he did so.
“Oh, yes,” she moaned; a long, drawn out sound that grabbed at his control.
He picked the pace up after that, forgoing the torture on her other tit and going straight for the good part, sucking the nipple relentlessly until she let go of his hair and put her hands behind her own head, increasing both her vulnerability and her pleasure as she arched her body into his hands and mouth.
She felt something hit the back of her knees and opened her eyes, surprised to find that he had carried her into her bedroom without her noticing it. She was lost in sensations as his mouth travelled across her skin, insistently licking and nibbling, stopping every now and then to explore some new place he wanted to get to know intimately.
She heard him unzipping her pants and lifted her body instinctively to help him get rid of it.
“Brandon,” she sighed when she was laying naked except for her panties; pretty white lace that matched the bra she had been wearing; on her bed, and Brandon was kneeling at the feet of the bed, trying to get rid of her shoes so he could undress her completely.
“Yeah?” His voice was strained with the effort of holding back his passion.
“Come up here for a second,” she whispered. He got rid of her shoe and when he had pulled off her jeans he leaned over her, bracing himself on one knee and both arms immediately.
“Everything okay?” he asked gently, his face showing no sign of the storm raging inside him. He wanted to rush, wanted to hurry, wanted to burry himself in her body, but he was determined not to. This was for her. For Emily. He would have time later to show her unbridled passion. But right now he wanted her to have the most perfect first time any girl has ever had, anywhere.
“It’s perfect,” she smiled up at him, her hair flaring out over her pillows.
“This is a lot better than the last time I undressed you,” he said, grinning.
“What last time?”
“Well, you were fairly drunk, so I’m not surprised you don’t remember,” he said, tracing a pattern on her tit with his finger; lazy circles and shapes that made her arch a little. “I only took off your coat and your shoes,” he added. “Like I said. This is much better.”
She laughed a little. “I’m still sorry you spent the night on the couch.”
“Yeah,” he said. “You’re going to need to get a bigger couch if I’m going to spend the night again.”
She licked over her lips, a small gesture he recognized by now as a sign of nerves, so he waited for her to speak, trying to ignore the throbbing in his cock.
“Why don’t you just use the bed next time?” she asked tentatively. “If you want there to be a next time, that is. I don’t want you to feel I expect anything, or that I presume this, right here, right now, that it means I…”
He cut her off. “What are you talking about, woman?” he asked, but he thought he knew, and he didn’t like the direction of her thoughts.
“I don’t want you to think I expect the fact that you’re making love to me means I will expect more than just that,” she said carefully. “I’m not naïve enough to think this means happy-ever-after.”
“Okay,” he said. “With that cleared up, can we go back to the love-making?”
“By all means,’ she said. He kissed her then, letting her taste a bit of his anger because, damn her, had the thought ever crossed her mind that he might want more? That once might not be enough for him?
She sank back into the fluffy duvet, her arms around him pulling him down with her. She pressed her tit against his upper body. He moaned at the feel of her naked body against his clothed one, especially when she rubbed herself against him.
“You’re overdressed,” she said and he gave a bark of laughter, hurrying to remedy just that. He was out of his shirt in record time, and she leaned up to watch as he struggled a little with his jeans. Getting it past his raging hard-on was a delicate operation, but he managed not to injure himself.
“Let me,” she said when the jean was around his ankles and he started on his black boxer briefs.
She scooted closer to him, dressed only in her lacy white panties, the scent of her arousal wafting through the air.
She was very careful when she slid one hand into the waistband and pulled it away from his body and down. It kept getting stuck on his cock, so she used her other hand to hold his cock out of the way. They both gasped when her fingers touched him. Finally the boxers was around his ankles, so he kicked it and the jeans off and out of the way.
She stared at his cock for a few seconds, her hand hovering as if she wanted to touch it.
“’Can I …” she indicated and he nodded, his throat dry. She touched one finger to his shaft, running it up and down his thick length.
“It’s so hard,” she said, marveling. “and at the same time, it’s so soft. Why is that?”
He moaned something in response as she made a fist around him, testing the thickness and pressing lightly.
“Harder,” he gasped. She did just that, and he groaned. Emily yanked her hand away.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked, wide-eyed. “I’m sorry! I’ve never, you know, seen one. In real life. Tell me what to do.”
“Later,” he gasped and pressed her down on the bed, kissing her senseless as he roamed over her body with one hand. “I’ll let you do whatever you want later. But now I want to show you; do you trust me?”
She blinked up at him.
“Yes,” she said, and the simple word tore through his last resistance. He kissed her with all the passion he’d been holding back, letting her know how much he wanted this, wanted her as he slid one hand down and into her panties.
“You’re shaved,” he said, surprised.
“When I was in my early twenties, I went for permanent hair removal,” she said. “Each time I tried shaving, I wound up cutting myself, so I just decided, screw that. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he said as he stroked his finger over her hairless mound, testing the softness of her skin before dipping lower.
And then he groaned as his finger was instantly coated in wetness. She was soaking.
She moaned at the strangeness of having somebody else’s finger inside her. He explored the lips, the petals, her clit, before dipping his fingertip inside her and dabbling a little while he kissed her again. She opened her legs wider instinctively, unaware of the eroticism of the movement. He rushed a little as he pulled her panties off and threw them over his shoulder. He knelt between her legs, spreading her knees further as he wedged his shoulders between her thighs.
“Emily, may I go down on you?” he asked formally. Just to be sure.
“You mean; you want to; Yes, all right. You don’t have to, though.”
“It’s not ‘have to’ as much as ‘want to’,” he said. “I want to taste you.”
“Well, don’t let me stop you,’ she said, still a little shy.
He used the fingers of one hand to spread her lips and the middle finger of his other hand to dibble inside her again, coating his finger in her juice and spreading it around her cunt. She wriggled a little and gave a small moan. Brandon knew he wasn’t going to last a hell of a lot longer, and he needed to get her off so he could get off. So he honed in on her clit with his finger, rubbing it fast and light, and then hard, and then in tight little circles, trying to find out what she liked best.
Emily closed her eyes and fisted her hands in the duvet as Brandon’s finger did things to her nobody else has ever done. She gave a gasp when he hit just the right spot, and he must have noticed, because he focused on it then, rubbing and tapping at it. A strange need was building inside her. She knew what orgasms feel like; and it was nothing like this. This was an urgency she couldn’t stop, a tidal wave rising from every nerve-end in her body.
“Brandon,” she gasped, clawing at his back to get him to stop. There was something wrong with her; this wasn’t normal. But he didn’t seem to realize her urgency, because then, oh mercy, his mouth was on her pussy, and he was sucking first the one lip and then the other into his mouth before getting to her clit. He moaned a little and muttered something about how good she tasted, but Emily was still fighting the feeling
- Lyt Lyt igen Fortsæt Spiller...
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The Librarian: Part 2
14 aug· Steamy-Stories
- Lyt Lyt igen Fortsæt Spiller...
- Lyt senere Lyt senere
The Librarian: Part 2
14 aug· Steamy-Stories
About Last Night
by horn pixy. Listen to the ► Podcast at Connected.
Well, she thought almost bitterly as she got dressed in sweatpants and a plain black sweater that was soft and a little loose after her latest, and to date most successful, weight-loss plan. She considered shoes, but settled for her fluffy pink slippers instead. So much for her brilliant theory. She had sat there for hours and hours on the most uncomfortable stool ever, drinking glass after glass of whiskey because she didn’t know what else to order and was too shy to ask.
And nobody; not even one man; had shown any interest in her. The only one who talked at her at all was the hot bartender, who…
The bartender! Of course! That’s why the man had looked familiar to her in her bathroom. His features had been blurry without her glasses, of course, but she was reasonably sure it was him. She was almost a hundred percent certain of it. The only question was; what was he doing in her apartment?
“It’s a long story,” he said when she asked him later, in her kitchen, her hair wrapped up in a towel and perched on her head. His eyes followed her movements around the kitchen as she got milk from the fridge for the coffee and put bread in the toaster. The irony of the morning-after-nothing-happened breakfast didn’t escape his notice.
“I have time,” she said carefully, closing the blinds to avoid all possible sources of light. “Give me the quick version.”
“Fine,” he said with a sigh. “You were drunk, I helped you home. My keys are locked in my car and I couldn’t get a cab to come get me. That’s it, in a nutshell. And because I know you’re still wondering, I spent the night on your couch, shivering a little. Ok, shivering a lot. It was damn cold. Plus I have a crick in my neck now.”
She winced. “I’m sorry. I wish you’d waken me up, I would at least have helped you with a blanket.”
“I could have used your hairdryer to build a nuclear bomb right next to your bed and you wouldn’t have woken up. You were out cold.”
Another wince.
“I’m really sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never been that drunk before. I’m really not the type.”
“I know,” he said, not bothering to hide his grin. “You told me last night.”
She chewed her bottom lip nervously. Brandon wanted to take that hot little task over for her. He imagined nibbling on those petal soft lips and cleared his throat a little.
“What else did I tell you?” she wanted to know apprehensively.
“Well, you work in a library, and you can’t lie even to telephone salespeople.”
“Is that all?”
“Not by a long shot. By the way, what does technically mean?”
She frowned and cocked her head in a ‘what do you mean?’ way. “Technically?”
“Yes. When is something technically and when is it; I don’t know, untechnically? Physically? Literally?”
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” she said and smeared a thin strip of margarine over her dry toast.
He cupped his hands around the plain white cup filled to the brim with coffee and leaned forward.
“Tell me,” he said conversationally, sadistically waiting for her to take a bite of toast. “How does one remain a virgin, but only technically?”
She started choking as he’d expected, coughing and wheezing and grabbing her coffee to help the dry bread down the right pipe.
“What?”
“Apparently, if you were speaking the truth last night which drunk people seem prone to do for some reason, you are technically still a virgin, but not in a physical sense. I was just wondering how that happens.”
“I told you that? Oh my; I’m so sorry!”
He laughed at the red flush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks.
“Relax,” he said. “Its fine. I would just love to hear that story. Because there has to be a story.”
“Not really,” she muttered, and then, as an afterthought, “I’m never drinking again.”
“Wise words that has been spoken by many, many people over the years.”
“I mean it,” she insisted. “I honestly can’t believe I told you that.”
“Virginity is nothing to be ashamed of,” Brandon said, stroking one finger down her arm.
“It kind of is, when you’re twenty nine.”
He gaped. “You’re twenty nine and you’ve never had sex? How the hell had that happen?”
“I don’t know, it just; happened,” she muttered. “Or more to the point, it just never happened.”
“There must be a reason,” he prompted.
“There isn’t one specific reason, it’s more like a series of non-sexual incidents, strung together by everything from dating sites to five-minute dating games and more blind dates than I can count.”
“I take it none of that worked for you?”
“I met the most interesting people. Like Mike, who was seventy two at the time, and told me he had a granddaughter fantasy he wanted to play out with me.”
“He wanted you to pretend to be his granddaughter?”
She shook her head. “If only. I’m not sure how this would have played out since I didn’t stick around to find out, but I had to play the grandfather. And he was one of the better options.”
Brandon sat back, stunned. “No way,” he said disbelievingly.
She nodded. “I’m serious. After him was a series of serial losers; men who couldn’t hold on to jobs and girls and had to borrow money from one loan shark to pay off the next. The type of guys whose idea of cleaning out the trailer means letting a stray dog in to lick the stains from the floor and to put all the porn in one box.”
Oh, he was in deep shit, Brandon thought as he roared with laughter. She had a sense of humor. There was, to his mind, nothing sexier in a girl than a sense of humor.
“And after them?”
She frowned. “I met this guy, his name is Stanley, online. We went on a few dates and it didn’t go too bad, till his parole officer contacted me to let me know he was back in jail for harassing little kids at a park.” She winced. “It was messy. The police went through my house, looking for signs of kiddie-porn. Apparently he was part of a child-prostitution and trafficking ring. I had no idea. I got off with a warning, since there was no evidence that I was involved, and he told them that I knew nothing. I suspect they still monitor my internet history every once in a while.”
Helpless laughter rocked through him. No wonder she was still a virgin, if these were the kind of men she stumbled across during her search.
“What about high school?” he asked. “And college?”
She looked down at her hands. “I wasn’t exactly Miss Popular in school,” she said simply. “I wasn’t even that shy girl that nobody talks to except when they need help with math, because I sucked at math. Still do, as a matter of fact. I didn’t fit in with any of the clicks. I wasn’t pretty and I wasn’t clever, and I didn’t have any secret talents. The only thing I was good at was reading, and I did a lot of that. But nobody makes friends in the school library, right? Especially not if the girl is chubby and have the fashion sense of a blind nun.”
“Now that part I can help you with,” he said. “Why don’t I go shopping with you and help you pick out a few outfits that will make the, uh, best of your figure?”
She looked down at herself. True, she was wearing sweatpants, but they were new and still neat. And her sweater might be a bit too big after her diet, but it was of a good material and had been expensive and it didn’t lose shape in the wash. But his words made her feel downright dowdy.
“Do you remember what I told you last night?” he asked.
“I barely remember you, never mind anything you told me,” she said, stung.
He frowned a little and gazed at her with an intent look on his face that made her wonder if he could see more than what she revealed.
“You expressed the wish to… how to put this delicately? find somebody to enjoy yourself with, but you were concerned that you don’t have the right look and personality to attract men. I merely offered my advice to help you if you wanted an objective opinion.”
“Oh,” she said, pushing her plate away from her with one finger.
Actually, what he’d promised was to help her learn to fake it, but Brandon was strangely reluctant to hurt her feelings by telling her that. She was female, after all, and would immediately conclude that he thought she wasn’t good enough or pretty enough, or didn’t have what it takes to attract men like ants to a syrup bottle.
And that was just bull.
Even if he had had almost those exact same thoughts not twelve hours ago.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked after a few semi-awkward moments of silence.
He shrugged. “Maybe I’m just a nice guy.”
“Men are never nice unless they have an agenda.”
He winced. “Ouch. True, but ouch.”
She gave him a small smile. “So what’s your agenda?”
Getting in your pants.
“Maybe I want library privileges.”
She snorted. “Like what?”
Showing you what the reference section should really be used for.
“Maybe I have a fine for a book that’s late. Think you can help me make it disappear?”
Her smile was like the sunrise.
“Are you trying to bribe me?”
He leaned forward with a grin. “Maybe I am. Are you corruptible?”
“Certainly not. I’m a good girl, you know.” She was trying hard to look prim and proper, and failing miserably. Her eyes; those bluer-than-the-sky eyes of hers; were filled with laughter behind her pretty glasses, despite the way she was pursing her lips and trying to look chastising.
“All right. So I’ll have to pay the fine, then. How about this? There’s a book I want to read, but it’s on a waiting list. I would love to be moved to the top of the list.”
She pretended to think about it. “That depends,” she decided. “What book is it?”
He couldn’t help it, couldn’t resist the invitation their flirting was issuing.
“The Art of Pleasuring Women,” he said, wondering if she would accept the unvoiced challenge.
She did, though her eyes widened slightly in scandalous provocation. “Well, now,” she said, clearing her throat a little. “I guess I can be convinced. Wouldn’t want your girlfriend to be dissatisfied by your prowess. It would be sad for the poor girl if you didn’t know how to; get things done. You might even say it’s my civic duty to let you have the necessary instruction.”
His throat was a little dry and he lifted his cup to his lips, surprised to realize there wasn’t another drop. “Yeah,” he said. “Education is important. Speaking of education, I think it’s time for lesson one.”
“Lesson one in what?”
He grinned. “Making you irresistible.”
Emily twisted her hair into a clip with a practiced movement. Brandon had given her couple of hours while he got a cab to take him home and get his spare keys, promising to be back for her first lesson. She felt awkward when he left, sure it would be the last time she saw him. She knew he thought her plain and uninteresting– he’d basically said it himself in so many words; and he had absolutely no reason to waste his Saturday on her. She was surprised at the desolation she had felt when she stood at her window, watching his cab pull off. He was the first man in a long time to be nice to her. Not many guys would go to the trouble he’d gone too to get her home safely. He’d looked after her as if they were friends, and this morning he’d joked with her and put her at ease, making her forget about the humiliation of her alcohol-loosened tongue of the previous evening. For goodness’ sake, she had told him she was still a virgin. Why on earth had she felt the need to share that with him? Now he would always remember her as that crazy girl who couldn’t handle a few drinks and had no taste in clothes. He was nice, and talking to him had been very nice and seeing him again would be even nicer, but she was not naïve enough to believe he would be back. Still, she couldn’t help taking extra care when she dried her hair and did her make-up. The result was less than satisfactory, to her own eyes. No matter what she did, she would be plain. Nothing could change that. She had never been pretty, nor would she ever be.
“And you’d best make peace with it,” she muttered to her slightly depressed image in the mirror. She threw open her closet and looked at the piles of clothes that had been arranged with military precision, according to color and styles.
It was a bit sad, watching her cupboard. Most of what she owned was either white or beige or cream, or any variation of that. There were blacks and navy blues, and a few browns and greys. Some dowdy shades of maroon and a mourning, drab purple, but that was it.
Was this really what her life had whittled down to? Her job was going nowhere, fast, she had no relationships outside her head, and her closet looked like she let her grandmother do her shopping. Why on earth had she bought that grey and brown coat hanging in the back? It was horrible. It was hideous, even if it was made of the finest wool she’d ever touched.
Emily pulled it off the hanger and dumped it on the bed unceremoniously. She grabbed another jacket, a few skirts she was ashamed to say she’d worn more than twice. The heap on her bed piled high as she emptied her closet almost completely. She was feeling slightly frantic by the time she was done with the coats and jackets and started on slacks and trousers. Had she been blind her entire life, to wear this?
“What are you doing?” a voice suddenly said, disturbing her. Emily dropped a faded charcoal blouse on the floor in surprise. Her sort-of friend and downstairs neighbor was staring at the bed, which was covered with clothes, with an expression of revulsion. She must have used the spare key Emily had left with her, because Emily had locked the door behind Brandon. Usually Judith knocked, but Emily hadn’t heard anything.
“You!” said Emily accusingly, bending down to pick up the shirt and holding it out in front of her. “I blame you!”
“For what?” Judith asked, clearly not sure what to expect.
“This is partly your fault,” Emily scolded, shaking and accusing finger at Judith. “How could you let me wear this crap? In public?”
Judith stared at the bed, her mouth working a little as she processed the situation.
“I thought you liked it.”
“You should have told me I look about ninety! What sort of friend are you?”
“Em, you always look neat. I thought…”
“Neat! I looked neat. And how many guys want to have sex with neatness, I ask you?”
“Uhm…” Judith cleared her throat. “Clearly, not as many as you’d like.”
Emily threw another armful of blouses; a mustardy floral, a khaki-with-frills and a navy box neck that looked like the wrong end of the fifties; on the bed.
“None, that’s how many,” she said grimly. “How am I supposed to get somebody to marry if I can’t even find a man to have sex with me? What’s wrong with me?”
“There is not a thing wrong with you,” Judith said immediately and loyally. “You just; appeal to a different demographic than the men you meet.”
“Yeah,” Emily muttered. “The men at the senior citizen really enjoy chatting to me on Library Tuesday. They show up by the busloads to come see me.”
Judith stifled a laugh. “Why are you taking all of your clothes out of your closet?”
Emily sank down on her bead and glanced at the pile of ugly materials and styles.
“I’m getting rid of it,” she said darkly. “All of it. And I’m going to buy new things. Pretty things. Color, Judith, I need color. Pink and green and yellow. Red! I don’t even have a red dress. Why don’t I have a hot red dress?”
“Red’s really not your color,” Judith said. “Or yellow, to be honest. You need to stay away from red and yellow, and definitely no orange.”
“See? Why haven’t you told me this before? Look at me, Judith, I’m a mess.”
Judith sat down next to her. “I guess you always seem so content, so at peace with your life. I used to envy you that. I’m the most unstable person I know, and you just never cared what people thought about you. I had no idea you were dissatisfied. I’m sorry I let you wear ugly clothes.”
Emily gave a small laugh and glanced at the empty hangers in the closet. There were two coats that had passed her test; a truly timeless black cashmere and a really warm, snowy white one she’d bought on sale but hadn’t worn yet because it would get dirty the second she ventured out of her bedroom.
“It’s ok. It’s not your fault. I should have realized I need help long before now.”
“What brought this on?” Judith asked, picking up the mustard shirt looking at it shrewdly. “This would make an excellent floor rag, by the way.”
Emily laughed slightly. “Nothing brought it on. I’m just; I’m tired of being part of the scenery in my own life, you know? When is it my turn to have some fun? I’ve been waiting so patiently for my life to begin, and look where it’s brought me. I’m twenty nine, I’ve never had sex, and I’m too scared to venture outside this comfort zone I’ve been digging for myself with serviceable clothing and comfortable shoes and not enough friends.”
“Your shoes are really ugly,” Judith said, honestly. “And I promise I’ll tell you from now on if you wear something that doesn’t work.”
Emily looked at her nearly empty cupboard. “Thanks,” she said. “I guess I’ll take this stuff to the Salvation Army, if they want it.”
“Let me help with that,” Judith said. “I have a car, so it’ll be much easier for me. I know a great homeless shelter that needs donations desperately.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Emily said. “Why did you come here today? Did they drop my mail off in your box again?”
“No, I wanted to ask about that really hot guy I saw coming out of your apartment a while ago. Was he the cable repair man or something?”
“No,” Emily said, blushing a little. “He; actually, he spent the night here. On my couch,” she added quickly. “Nothing happened. I was so drunk he had to bring me home from the bar.”
Judith’s eyes widened. “But you never drink,” she said.
“I did last night.”
“Never mind that, then. Oh my word, Emily, you let a stranger sleep over at your house? And you didn’t jump him?”
“He wasn’t interested in being jumped,” Emily said. “He’s just; a nice guy I’m never going to see again.”
Judith chewed the inside of her lip. “Leave this stuff,” she said, “and bring your credit card. We’re going to go shopping.”
Brandon paced the hallway outside Emily’s apartment. He’d been there for an hour and she still wasn’t opening the door. She was either avoiding him on purpose, or incapable of answering the damn bell, or, most probably, not home.
Which just plain pissed him off. Hadn’t he told her he would be back? She had no business being out when he wanted to see her!
He kept walking, following the generic grey carpeting with the navy pattern with his eyes. This was ridiculous. He should be at home, watching sport or having an afternoon nap. He should not be pacing around, waiting for Emily to show up. What was he, a horny teenager who mistakes lust for love?
He forced himself to leave after another half hour. No girl was worth waiting for like this. It was pathetic and sad and told him, more than anything else, how much he needed to get laid. These; feelings he seemed to have caught, were like a disease. Or a virus. And the best cure for unwanted feelings is a good old-fashioned boink fest. He knew plenty of girls who would be more than happy to oblige. It was just such a pity he wasn’t interested in anybody except Emily.
Brandon scowled.
“Are you sure about the dress?” Emily asked for the third time, loading the last of the shopping bags into Judith’s car. They’d spent almost five hours straight in the shops, with Judith dragging her from the one shop to the next, picking out clothes and smelling discounts from miles away. Her arms were sore from carrying the bags around, and her credit card had given up screaming in pain ten purchases ago. Instead,
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The Sex Doll Crime Spree: Part 2
14 aug· Steamy-Stories
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The Librarian: Part 1
13 aug· Steamy-Stories
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The Librarian: Part 1
13 aug· Steamy-Stories
Brandon has been harboring a secret librarian fantasy
by horn pixy. Listen to the ► Podcast at Connected.
Brandon has been harboring a secret librarian fantasy for many years, but Emily was hardly his idea of a hot librarian. She was the type of women who came a side-serving of Complication. So why couldn’t he stay away from her?
It was almost time for last call. Brandon wiped the sodden rag over the counter and put the empty glass the girl had just put down into the crate under the bar with the other dirty glasses.
“One more?” he asked. She nodded and took her wallet from her purse. He handed her the scotch on the rocks; her sixth or seventh one for the evening; and wondered how she managed to keep her balance on the high barstool. Her eyes had that glazed look of somebody who had definitely had a few too many, but if he had not been the one to pour her drinks; all six or seven of them; he would not have guessed she was drunk. There was no characteristic slumping or wobbling or even raucous laughter. In fact, her ramrod straight posture and uncanny balance reminded him of a ballet teacher, especially with her hair scraped back into a bun like that. She was pretty enough, in a neat, mousy little way. It was impossible to hazard a guess at the figure under the bulky, shapeless coat she was wearing over goodness knew what. She was wearing glasses with a nice frame that actually suited her face in a non-descript kind of way. Brandon had never seen such a dignified drunk in his life. She had better manners drunk than most people had when they were stone cold sober and sitting their grandmother’s sitting rooms.
“Thank you,” she said politely when she accepted her change and slipped half of it into the tip-jar, as she had been doing all evening. He kept an eye on her as he started straightening bottles on the shelf behind him, wondering about her story.
Brandon loved his job. He owned several bars and still spent an evening now and then behind the counter. After serving drinks for three years across the globe when he was fresh out of high school, he enjoyed the occasional trip down memory lane. It fascinated him to see how alike people were, no matter where they lived. Broken hearts healed just as slowly in Hawaii as they did in Australia, and flirting was a universal art that did not differ too much from one place to another. He loved watching the games, the intrigues, the emotions, as people relaxed around him. He’d seen it all; the break-ups and the make-ups, the hopeful souls scouring the bar for the love of their lives; or at least the lay of the night. He’d seen people drink to forget, or to try to keep memories alive. He’d seen them drink because there was nothing else to do, or because they couldn’t do anything else. He’d seen the lonely girls go home with the wrong men and knew they’d wake up the next morning with alcohol on their breath and regret in their hearts. He’d seen women play fast and loose, and the men who managed to escape their clutches. He’d seen the best and the worst of people, but he thought he’d never quite seen anything like the girl sitting there in a dull brown coat, finishing one drink after another without toppling over or falling into somebody’s lap on her way to the bathroom. She was fresh and new, and it intrigued him.
The bar was rather empty in comparison to most Friday nights. But to be fair, it was the middle of the month and there was a blizzard raging on outside. He was closing up earlier than usual to give the staff and the customers the chance to get home before it got worse. The neat lady; there was other way to describe her; was one of the diehards, but since she was hardly causing a scene, he didn’t ask her to leave just yet while they were cleaning up.
Finally they were done, and he had to ask her to leave. She blinked owlishly at him from behind her glasses.
“Excuse me?” she asked, as if she had not heard him the first time.
He leaned closer and thought he caught a whiff of something clean and fresh under the ripe smell of alcohol and closed-up people that hung over the room.
“It’s closing time,” he repeated. “We’re going to lock up.”
“Oh,” she said, frowning slightly as her impaired brain tried to sort out his words. “Right,” she said finally. “Well, I’ll just go then, won’t I?”
“Can I call you a cab?” he asked, because she still had not moved from her seat. He waved a hand at the two waiters and the other barman, indicating that he would lock up and they could go home.
She looked at him, her eyes still slightly unfocused.
“To take you home,” he explained. “You shouldn’t drive.”
“Did I come with a car?” she asked, bewildered. “I hope not. I don’t own a car. Did I steal one?”
He grinned. This was fun. Normally drunk people just annoyed him a bit, but this girl struck a chord somewhere in his chest he’d never known to exist.
“Not that I know of,” he said. “How did you get here?”
“I must have walked,” she said, puzzled. “From work. Fancy that.”
“What work do you do?” he asked as Rod, one of the waiters, closed the door behind the other staff members.
“I’m a libal; librali; a li bra rian,” she said, looking quite pleased with herself for managing the word. Fancy that indeed, he thought, his mind going into immediate overdrive at the mention of her career. Like many, many men, he harbored a secret Librarian Fantasy. Even the way she broke it up into syllables didn’t diminish the thoughts running though his head.
The job suited her perfectly, he thought. She was cut out for the silence and air of wisdom and propriety that hung around the books like dusty clouds. He imagined being scolded by her for being too loud and grinned.
“Where do you live?” he wanted to know. He would help her home, call her a cab, and forget about her. She was not the type of librarian he fantasized about; she had glasses, but they were the wrong kind, and even though her hair was scraped back out of her face, there was nothing sexy about it. She wasn’t wearing nearly enough make-up and not at all the right kind of clothes, either. She was just a girl, hiding behind stacks of books. Her fingers were unadorned, and he guessed her to be single. She probably had four or five cats and a vibrator named Bob hidden in her nightstand that she rarely used because it made her feel guilty.
“Up the street, I think,” she said, pointing vaguely with her fingers. “That way. You have pretty eyes.”
He lifted an amused brow. ‘That way’ would take him to the kitchen and eventually, an alleyway behind the building.
“How about an address?” he asked. “To give to the cab-driver.”
He grabbed a paper napkin and a pen. She wrote slowly, carefully, her handwriting still managing to be neater than his illegible scrawl.
“You don’t live far from me,” he said, lying smoothly. “Just one block south, to be precise. Would you like a lift home?”
“Never get in the car with strangers,” she said firmly.
“A cab driver is also a stranger,” he pointed out.
“Not the same thing.”
“Nope. But on second thought, I’m not sure you’ll find a cab in this weather.”
“That’s right,” she said, smiling broadly for the first time. The expression transformed her face from plain to pretty. Her innocence amused and tickled him. “It’s snowing. Like a White Christmas.”
He couldn’t help it. He grinned; it was January. She wasn’t just drunk, she was completely sloshed. But still amazingly stable and logical.
“Let’s get you home,” he said, coming around the bar to help her from the stool. This was not something he ever did. He owned the bars; how the patrons got home was their problem, not his. But he couldn’t just leave this girl to her own devices, not unless he wanted the next time he heard about her to be her name in an obituary. She’d probably fall asleep in the cold right outside his bar and die. It would cause all sorts of unwanted paperwork and police questions.
She didn’t even need his help standing up. The liquor, it seemed, had not affected her balance one bit. Still, he kept a hand on her back to steer her. He locked up behind them while she stood looking at him through her wide, trusting eyes.
“You’re really tall,” she said. “I wish I was taller.”
“You’re the perfect height,” he said. “See? My arm fits right round your shoulders. You’re like a portable armrest.”
She didn’t giggle at that, and he wondered of she’d heard him. It was a pretty lame joke, but in his experience, drunk people will laugh at anything.
“I wish I was hot,” she said. “Like you. But not like you. Like a girl. Then maybe I could have sex.”
He coughed, choking on his breath, the way some people trip over their own feet.
“What?” he asked when he finally had the air back in the right pipes.
“I wish I was prettier,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’m not being pessimistic, really. I just; well, no use crying for the moon, is there?”
“You are pretty,” he said automatically. She sighed.
“I’m not. But thank you for pretending, anyway. Oh, my goodness, it’s cold.”
He had just opened the back door and yes, it was cold indeed. The wind was blowing sheets of snow into their faces and heaping it against the side of the building. He steered her with one hand in the direction of his car, which was parked under the staff-members-only roof.
He cranked up the heater and took the drive slowly and carefully. The cold was making her drowsy, and he could see her head drooping slightly. No doubt the drinks were finally taking effect.
“I take it you don’t drink often?” he said.
“Nope,” she said, pulling the edges of her rather ugly coat closer around her. “I’ve never been drunk before.”
Until tonight, he thought, but he waited for her to continue on her own. After a few seconds, she did.
“I’m sort of a virgin,” she said.” By choice. But it’s not my choice.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Technically I’m no longer one. But I’ve never been with a man, you know?”
Well, he certainly knew now. But his years as a barman had taught him when to listen and when to talk. So he kept quiet.
“Well, anyway, I always thought it was because I’m too shy. Men don’t like that, right?”
“Some do,” he said, because what else could he say?
“Liar,” she said fondly. “Nobody wants to be with somebody who’s ashamed of themselves. I know I wouldn’t like that in a man, so I can hardly expect any man to show interest in me. That’s why I went out tonight,” she added after a few seconds. “Too see if drinking helps me get loose. Turns out I’m even boring when I’m drunk.”
“You’re not boring,” he said firmly. “You just need to learn how to fake it. Everybody is secretly self-conscious. Some just hide it better that others. You need to find a way to pretend. If you can convince yourself, you know other people will believe it.”
“I don’t think I’d know how,” she said. “I’m no good at acting or pretending or lying. I can’t even lie to telephone sales people. “
“I’ll help you,” he said impulsively. “I’ll show you how to fake it.”
“Really?”
“Sure. When you’re sober. Anything I teach you now will be wasted.”
“Like me,” she sighed. “I’m wasted, and all I want to do is go to bed. That’s my building up there.’
“That’s a gas station,” he said with a grin.
“Oh.” She frowned. “Then it’s not my building, is it?”
“I sincerely hope not.”
They found her building eventually, tucked away between a tall, scary-looking block of flats and a three-story bridal boutique. He helped her out of the car and up the steps. It took her three times to key the right series of numbers into the keypad so the door would open. Finally, she recited them to him to read it in.
“Thank you,” she said awkwardly. “For the lift, and the ear.”
He grinned. “No problem,” he said. “Hey, what’s your name?”
“Emily,” she said.
Emily. It suited her perfectly, as if her parents had had a glimpse of her in the future when they named her. She looked like an Emily more than anybody else he’d ever met.
“I’m Brandon,” he said. “Can I pick you up tomorrow around noon for your first lesson?”
“Lesson?”
“In faking it.”
It occurred to him then that ‘faking it’ might refer to something else as well, but he always made damn sure a girl does not need to fake it when she’s with him. Not that he planned to have sex with her. This girl’s second name was Complication. It would be cruel to pluck her cherry and then be off on his merry way. She was not the type to come; and then go.
“Okay. Wanna come up?”
He considered saying no, but realized she might need help to get into her apartment. It seemed her brain had simply been behind on its reaction, and she was finally in the clumsy imbalance phase of drunkenness.
She might get hurt, or lost, or wind up asleep on a hallway chair somewhere.
“Sure,”’ he said.
It was three interesting flights of stairs. She only almost-fell seven times, even with his arm around her waist. She was still incessantly polite, apologizing profusely and telling him how pretty he was.
Yeah, because that’s what every guy secretly wants to be. Pretty.
He had to take her keys and unlock the door himself. She was toppling over and had to hold onto the wall with both hands to keep from introducing her ass to the ground. It was a good thing she was wearing sensible flats rather than sexy heels, and he had to be the first guy ever to have that particular thought.
“There we go,” he said when he finally got the door open. She would need to get a locksmith to take a look at the thing; the key had stuck a bit, as if the mechanism inside was rusty.
Her house surprised him. He had unconsciously expected it to be decorated like something from the Victorian Era; Chintz and flowers, frilly and stuffy. Chokingly girly. It wasn’t. Oh, it was undeniable a female place, but it was feminine rather than girlish. The door opened into the sitting room, which had a sage green couch with big white pillows and lampshades. The lavender curtains had been drawn against the cold air and what was probably a dreary scene outside. The art against the walls was lovely; no modern skyscrapers with red splashes to indicate blood and lust, or wriggling shapes than reminded him of female sex organs during ovulation.
A small little galley kitchen on the right showed no dirty dishes in the sink, and a gleaming espresso machine on the countertop next to an equally gleaming microwave.
He half-carried, half-dragged her to the only other door, guessing it to be the bedroom.
It was, and here was more proof of neat, uncluttered taste. The room was tiny, with built-in cupboards and barely enough space to walk around the bed to the bathroom on the other side.
“You gonna kiss me now?” she asked when he helped her onto the bed and slid a pillow under her head.
“Sure, thing, honey,” he said as he switched on the bedside lamp so he could turn off the harsh overhead fixture. “In a minute, okay? You just wait right there.”
He made sure she wasn’t too close to the edge to roll off and brought her a glass of water from the kitchen. He found Advils in her bathroom cabinet, along with some make-up and an unopened packet of condoms. Pity stirred his heart. She was well and truly lonely, wasn’t she? All cosseted in her small little apartment, hiding behind books and pretty paintings. So far he hadn’t seen any sign of a cat, but maybe the building didn’t allow pets.
He found a heater and turned it up. She was lying suspiciously still on her side, one arm flung out to the side. He tucked it into a more comfortable position. It was the desire to get her comfortable as much as curiosity that made him wait until she was deeply asleep, or, more likely, passed out, before he pulled her coat off to reveal her body.
She was small, and firm, and the only word he could think of to describe her was neat. She was utterly non-descript. She had tits, but they were just there, situated on her chest much in the way a nose is situated more or less in the middle of a face. He doubted he’d notice them if he saw her in the line at the grocery store other than for the obvious reason; they were female tits, and therefore bound to be noticed, even if they did not get a second look. They were completely average tits. He couldn’t see much, as she was wearing a creamy beige sweater that had clearly been bought with an eye on heat rather than hotness, and brown slacks that sat loose around her legs and revealed nothing about what her body looked like.
He shook his head as he slipped her shoes from her feet and considered doing her another favor and tossing them in the trash. They were butt-fuck-ugly. He hated sensible shoes on a woman.
He pulled the quilt over her body and since he had some experience with drunk people, found a plastic bucket in her kitchen to put next to her bed. She seemed to have missed the psychedelic-yawn, porcelain-god-worshipping part of the evening, but judging by the fact that her body seemed to have its own ideas of how to react to alcohol, he wasn’t taking anything for granted. She would hate herself if she woke up in the morning, only to find she’d puked all over her pretty, plush white carpet. Who bought white carpets anyway? Wasn’t that like a direct invite to Karma and Murphy and all those other sadistic creatures who makes people spill coffee just after they get dressed in a new shirt, or back their car into a lamp pole the first time they take it out for a drive?
He left a piece of paper with the instructions to drink the tablets and the water next to the glass and went back downstairs, only to tread back up when he couldn’t find his keys in his pocket.
It wasn’t in the living room either, nor anywhere else in her house that he could find. He went as far as opening her underwear drawer (he really was desperate, after all,) and was not too surprised that they weren’t there. He was pleasantly surprised, however, that the librarian lady had quite good taste in underwear. He didn’t touch any of the pretty lace and satin snips of fabric, but he could imagine them on her easily enough, and it made for a pretty image.
He finally located his keys; sitting in the ignition of his car, the doors firmly locked against him.
“Son of a bitch!” he said, slamming a frustrated hand onto the snow-covered roof. “Dammit!”
He took his phone from his pocket and tried to call a cab company to come get him and take him home to get his spare key, but just as he got an operator his phone made a cheerful beep just before the battery died. He considered throwing the piece of shit into the nearest heap of snow, but figured that would be counterproductive.
He was stuck, and he’d be dammed if he was going to wait for the sun to rise outside on the streets, looking at a locked car.
He trudged back upstairs, grateful that he hadn’t been able to lock the door behind him and made himself at least semi-comfortable on Emily’s couch, and closed his eyes. By any luck he would be awake and gone long before Miss Emily found the courage to leave her bed. And when he left, he would stay gone. She probably won’t remember the impulsive promise he had made to help her get confidence, so she won’t be upset when he doesn’t show up. He already regretted the invitation; Emily the librarian was not the type of girl he needed to spend time with. She was too shy; she said so herself; and she dressed atrociously. Except for her underwear, of course. She was plain, bordering on dowdy, a self-proclaimed virgin, (whatever she had meant by technically) and she had you’re-going-to-break-my-heart written all over her.
She was a librarian, for goodness sake. That was a species of women best suited to the porn industry, where they wore impractical high-heeled pumps and button down shirts with sexy glasses and tight skirts. If you put Emily in
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The Sex Doll Crime Spree: Part 1
13 aug· Steamy-Stories
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Beverly’s Ride: Part 2
12 aug· Steamy-Stories
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Mom’s Hot Friend, Rachel
12 aug· Steamy-Stories
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Beverly’s Ride: Part 2
12 aug· Steamy-Stories
I help a female classmate with a ride to school and get surprising dividends.
by senor longo. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories.
Saturday, March 25, 1961.
I worked, as usual, until one and then drove home for lunch before I mowed the lawn and raked leaves for another hour, finishing at 4:30 so I could shower and take a short nap before dinner and dressing for a “party.” I knew that was a waste of time, but I had to maintain appearances. I had told Mom I was going to a party. I thought of it as a white lie because I knew there would be a lot of really close dancing and celebrating taking place. However, I couldn’t reveal that we’d be naked at the time.
I left the house just a few minutes before eight, pulling into Beverly’s driveway just ten minutes later. I was laughing as Beverly opened the door in yet another revealing nightgown, or whatever it was she was wearing. All I knew was that my clothes hit the floor in an instant as I bent her over the couch for our first fuck of the evening. “Richard, you didn’t use a condom!”
“Not to worry; I’ll be out and into your mouth long before I’m ready to spurt.” I was true to my word on that, pulling out just minutes later and spinning Beverly around and onto her knees. She cleaned my cock of her succulent juices before sucking me dry; at least until our next time.
We were lolling around lazily a few minutes later when she asked if I recalled what she had said about who owned and managed the camp she had attended. “Sure,” I replied. “Didn’t you say that it was run by several synagogues in the area?”
“That’s right and some of them are much more liberal than mine is.”
“Okay.” I tried to sound confident as I did every day in class, but truthfully, I was confused.
“I mentioned that because while my parents will only allow me to date and eventually marry an orthodox Jew, lots of the other girls’ parents allow their daughters to date boys of any religion.”
“Okay,” I said, knowing that my uncertainty was more obvious as I said it. Mostly, I was wondering where this conversation was going.
“After all we’ve been through this weekend, I thought it might be cruel to just cut you loose without any sex on the horizon for you. Would you believe that you know a few of the other girls who were at the camp with me?”
“Yeah, that makes sense, I guess.”
“Not all of them were sexually active, but one was even more involved than I was.”
“Wow, that’s hard to believe, but I’ll take your word for it.” I still had no idea where this was going, but I already told you that I’m not very good with women.
“One of the things I love about you, Richard, is that you can be so naïve when it comes to women.”
“That’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it certainly is. So, let’s see if you can guess who I’m talking about.”
“Okay, there’s Beverly Rich, but I know she has a boyfriend so I doubt it’s her. There’s Judith, but I can’t believe it’s her, either. She always acts like she’s got a stick up her ass.” Beverly laughed like crazy, even as she agreed with me. “Sandra has a boyfriend, too, as do Wendy and Pam and Michelle. The only one I can even think of is Carol. She’s always friendly, but she doesn’t exude sex like some of the other girls in our class.”
“Yeah, some of them act like genuine sluts, but it’s just an act with most of them. I have to tell you that I’ve invited this girl to join us tonight. I want you to close your eyes and keep them closed until I tell you to open. Will you do that?”
“Okay.” This time I was more than sure that I was in for a good time tonight. I only failed to realize how good and what new sexual frontiers I would break tonight.
Beverly had me lie in the center of her double bed as she began to suck me to hardness. It wasn’t long before I felt two tongues on my organ. Just that realization was enough to push me to rock hardness in spite of just cumming a few minutes ago. Then I felt a pair of slender legs straddle my body. There were two hands on my cock, supporting it as I began to enter what seemed to be the tightest hole I could have imagined. It was lubricated, but it didn’t feel like Beverly’s cunt. Instinctively, I moved my hands up to grasp a small set of tits; much smaller than Beverly’s. Still, massaged them and twisted her nipples, hearing her groan for the first time.
I knew then who I was screwing, but I still didn’t understand the tightness until Carol leaned forward to kiss me. “Fuck me, Richard. Fuck my ass and finger my cunt. Oh, dear God, I’m going to cum so fucking hard.” Carol’s body convulsed wildly as she experienced what seemed to be a seriously major orgasm. When it comes to women, I can be a bit slow on the uptake, so it was several seconds before I processed what I had heard. Did she say “fuck my Ass?” Was that where my cock was now; buried in Carol’s tight ass?
Looking down I saw her vacant cunt and her ultra-tight sphincter wrapped tightly around my never-harder organ. Seeing how she had cum and was about to even harder again, I drove into her with increasing strength and speed. I had never even dreamed of such sexual nirvana, but here it was and I was actually part of it. Carol came again and then another two times before I literally exploded into her ass. I was exhausted and the clock only red 8:42.
I looked up at Beverly as I asked her, “Why?”
“Easy enough, Richard. You and Carol are both friends of mine and I know that anything we do will end tonight because of my parents’ beliefs. Neither of you are dating, at least not seriously, so I thought you’d like a helping hand at getting together. You’re both horny as hell and I know you’re already good friends, so I took a shot at playing matchmaker.”
What Beverly said made a lot of sense, but I needed to hear from Carol and I did as soon as my wilted cock fell from her anus. “You’re probably thinking that anal sex is really filthy.” Actually, that’s exactly what I was thinking. “It would be if I hadn’t taken two enemas before coming here tonight. I’ll do that whenever we date, assuming that we actually do, and if I can’t, then you’ll still be free to fuck my cunny, my cunt. My ass is different in that it’s not self-lubricating like my cunt is, so I’ll be sure to use plenty of lubricant whenever we date. I know that I don’t have much in the tit department, but you can play with them whenever you want. Okay, not in school, but before and after and anytime we’re dating. The same goes for my cunt.
“You see, I spent most of my time at camp with the Negro chefs. My cunt is really tight; too tight to accommodate them, so we used my ass instead and I found that I loved it. We like each other, Richard, but we’ll never be in love, so we can enjoy each other until we do find love. Is that okay with you?”
“It sure as hell is! That sounds just great to me, so I assume that we can have a date next Friday night.”
“Sure, and you can take me to and from school so you’ll at least get a blowjob every day.”
Beverly laughed as she told Carol she had already promised that.
“Okay, you can have both of us blow you and you can finger two cunts, too; maybe even fuck both of us.”
“It sounds great. I already have permission from my parents to give Beverly a ride every day because of the rapist I’ve red about in the paper. I do have one question. Where on earth did you learn to speak the way you do. I never thought I’d ever hear a woman use the word ‘cunt.’
Beverly answered first. “That’s from camp. Between the girl counselors and the Negro cooks, the language was pretty fucking raw. Words like ‘fuck’ and ‘cunt’ and ‘asshole’ were used dozens of times every day. I had to be extra careful once I returned home and I know that Carol had the same problem. Besides, you’ve never been in the girls’ room at school. The language there is really rough.” I nodded. My experiences in the boys’ room were exactly the same. I’d never heard either of my sisters say anything, but I didn’t spend twenty-four hours a day with them, either.
Beverly had brought a warm soapy washcloth to clean my cock once we had finished talking. Carol had begun kissing me and, I had to admit, she was pretty damned good at it. Soon, Beverly was sucking my cock while Carol and I made out and, after about fifteen minutes, they switched places. Fuck! Sex with two women at once was pretty damned spectacular.
We continued that way all night. I did cum six times, but each of them came at least eight, and probably more. I gave Carol a ride home and she sucked my cock all the way. Her family’s home was on the way and I had a great idea what was in store for me next Friday evening. We could always figure out what we wanted to do at school during the week.
Mom, of course, asked how the party was so I told her it wasn’t really a party, just a group of five guys and seven girls, some Coke and chips, and some snacks courtesy of Beverly’s mother. “We danced some and played Parcheesi and watched some TV, although I didn’t watch, and I did get a date for Friday night with Carol Gold.”
Is she kind of skinny with light brown hair?”
“Yeah, Mom, but in case you haven’t noticed, that pretty much describes me, too. Anyway, we were talking and found we had a lot in common so I asked her out. We’ll figure out what during the week. It’ll probably be a movie if there’s anything decent playing.”
“Maybe you’ll get lucky and there will be some horror movie in one of the theaters,” my dad said.
“Geez, Harold; you have a one-track mind. Leave him alone. He’s never had much of a social life so he’s entitled to one now. Don’t you think?” I was sure Dad did, but he also knew better than to argue with Mom. He was sure to lose, just as he did many times in the past.
I spent Sunday doing chores around the house and out in the yard, returning to school Monday morning. I picked up Carol at her home on the way and she couldn’t wait to suck on my cock. She was still sucking when I stopped to pick up Beverly. Carol made room for Beverly once we were out of sight of her home and the two of them licked and sucked me until I was ready. Then, they swapped off; alternating swallowing a mouthful of hot slick semen; until I was empty. They licked me clean and gently returned my tired cock to my khaki’s, just as I drove onto the school lot.
The week went by quickly and before I knew it, I was picking up Carol for our date on Friday night. We’d decided on a movie, thinking that we could fuck all night. I’d found a great parking spot only about half a mile away and was looking forward to sticking my hard cock up her ass. The movie was described as a romantic adventure story, but it was more romantic than anything else. I didn’t care. I was busy making out with Carol with my hand on her naked tit the entire time. We were seated in the last row of the balcony and my hand was hidden by her jacket. Her hand was inside my slacks, stroking my cock and preparing for my blowjob once we had left the theater.
That’s the way it went for the rest of the school year. The cops never did catch the rapist so I continued to give Carol and Beverly rides to school right up until graduation. I met Beverly’s mother one morning and she wanted to pay for the gas I was using to drive Beverly to and from school. I politely refused, explaining that taking care of my classmate was something my parents expected of me and that they would be furious if I accepted any kind of reward for doing so. Beverly’s mom smiled and thanked me, but we both wondered what she’d say if she knew how Beverly was actually rewarding my efforts.
I did get lots of blowjobs from Beverly, either individually, or in tandem with Carol, but we never fucked again. Carol was happy to pick up the slack, giving me her cunt and her ass on a regular basis. I always fucked her ass on Saturday nights and her cunt on Fridays. I also got her two or three times a week on the way home from school once we had found a safe spot that was shielded from spying eyes by about twenty feet of high brush. We usually did it on the car hood once the weather was warmer in April, May, and June.
Eight Years Later.
Unfortunately, Carol had left the state to attend college in Illinois while I went to study in Massachusetts. We still got together during breaks and in the summer. We knew we would never become serious romantically; we only enjoyed fucking each other. We rarely saw Beverly during that time and the only contact I had was the occasional phone call; just enough to keep in touch with a classmate and friend, but not enough to make her parents suspicious. Unlike Carol and me who had gone out of state to college. Beverly’s overbearing parents had kept her at home. She was engaged to a rabbi’s son as soon as she had graduated from Yeshiva University, which I knew was someplace in Manhattan, in New York City. I hoped at the time that she’d be happy, but for some reason, I doubted it.
That proved true when I red in the legal ads that Beverly and her husband divorced after four years. I knew that Carol had married. She had become a lawyer and her husband was a local justice who later was appointed to one of the state courts.
I had studied business administration with an emphasis on accounting, taking an entry-level position with one of the major financial services firms, working my way up the corporate ladder slowly but surely. I had gained a reputation as a straight shooter, always being honest and telling the truth, even when the truth reflected poorly on me. It was that attitude that caught the attention of one of the firm’s three principals. I suddenly found myself earning more than most of those hired at the same time as me, or even a year or two before me. I was given more responsibility and the opportunity to lead groups of accountants on jobs that required more and more responsibility.
It was through my relationship with this man that I was invited to the Christmas party at his house during my fourth year on the job. We’d had a party for the employees two weeks earlier, but this was more for his friends and family. I was tempted to pass, but Bradley insisted, telling me that he’d be really pissed if I didn’t show up.
I had gained a lot of weight since graduating high school so I was now six feet four inches tall and weighed a firm two hundred pounds. I worked out several times a week and ate sensibly. Dressed in a navy blue blazer and grey flannel slacks with cordovan loafers, I felt I would be appropriately dressed. Well, I hoped I’d be appropriate. I checked my tie at the door before knocking.
I had no idea what to expect and I had thought several times during the week that I had been invited to serve as bartender. Instead, I was greeted by Bradley and introduced to his wife who insisted that I call her Denise. She took me by the arm, leading me, I thought, to the bar. I learned then the real reason why I was invited; their daughter, Sandra. She was a year younger than me and had studied nursing. Many of my friends as an undergrad tended to think of nursing students as stupid, horny, and easy women, but I knew better. My mom was an RN and she had told us how arduous the course of study had been. Sandra was a tall good-looking woman with a slender athletic body. Overall, at least an eight on a scale of ten, was my initial assessment.
“Richard, this is my daughter, Sandra. Sandra, will you please show him around while I play hostess for a while?”
We stood there for a few minutes, just looking into each other’s eyes until Sandra spoke with a chuckle. “Do you have the feeling that we’ve been set up? I’m related to them and even I’m embarrassed.”
“Um, I did have that thought a few times, especially when your dad threatened to fire me if I didn’t show up.”
“Oh no, he didn’t do that, did he?”
“Actually, he didn’t come out and say it, but it was kind of implied. So, if I’ve been set up, I might as well take advantage of the situation and get to know you. That’ll probably satisfy your parents, and who knows? So, tell me, what you do?” And then she did, following up by asking me about my work.
She replied once my story was done, “You know, I always thought that accounting was boring, but you make it seem fascinating.”
“Well, like any other job there are parts that actually are as boring as hell. Then there are some jobs where you actually look forward to the boring work because the people you have to work with on the account are obnoxious. And some are even worse.”
Sandra smiled as we were offered some boiled shrimp and cocktail sauce by a waitress. Then she reacted to what I had said. “I’m sure you’re just making that up.”
“Yeah, I wish! What do you tell someone who questions your effort on their investments when they’ve returned 7% and the overall market has returned 2 point 5? The fact that you are a lady and my boss’s daughter, prevents me from being totally honest.”
“That’s not what Daddy has told me about you. He says you’re always honest.”
“I try to be, but some clients don’t really want to hear the truth. They don’t want to hear that their investment strategies have been idiotic or even dangerous, so I do try to tamp it down quite a bit. However, I refuse to take responsibility for their stupid decisions, so I do occasionally have to remind them that they did this or that against my advice, and now they’re suffering the consequences of their own stupidity. That’s also why I keep excellent records of conversations and meetings.”
Sandra took my arm then and led me to the bar. She had a gin and tonic; I had a Coke. “Don’t you drink?”
“Sure, but not at an occasion like this. If I was out with friends, no problem, but I’m not taking a chance on embarrassing myself or my hosts by getting even a little tipsy.”
Sandra stood silently and looked at me before leading me away from the crowd to a deserted and chilly patio. She took my drink and put both onto a table before grabbing my head and pulling it down for a long and passionate kiss with lots of tongue from both of us.
“Um, am I going to hear about this on Monday morning, if not sooner?”
Sandra laughed for almost a minute before replying, “Not if you ask me out for next Friday and Saturday evenings.” Then she added, “ I knew there was a good reason why I wore heels tonight. This way I won’t have to reach up too far for our next kiss.” She proved that a few seconds later with an even more passionate kiss that went on and on, not that either of us was complaining.
Now it was my turn to laugh. “I like a woman who’s direct. Think you’d like to see My Fair Lady? I know it’s been around for a couple of years, but it’s still next to impossible to get tickets. I’d take you to dinner first. If we do that on Friday, we can discuss what we want to do on Saturday.”
“How are you going to get tickets on such short notice?”
“The producer is one of our clients and he’s offered them to me several times. I can send him a text right now if you like.” I did and sure enough I was promised row eight center tickets fifteen minutes later. That was the start of my relationship with Sandra, who became Sandy long before she was introduced to my family on Christmas Eve, just two weeks later. We spent New Year’s Eve at dinner before dancing extremely closely and retiring to my townhouse for the evening. That was our first time making love, and that’s exactly what it was. Surprisingly, I never heard a word from her father. I did hear from him and my future mother-in-law four months later when Sandy phoned to tell them that she was engaged.
She and I were making up the guest list to our wedding and reception when she told me that we must absolutely invite Beverly. “I need to thank her for helping to give you the wonderful sexual skills you have today. No man
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