Chrissy is a long-time friend of mine. She works in a library outside London, so we don’t often get together for drinks. Occasionally, we watch chick-flicks together. When she found out I wanted to start a collection of stories on sexual encounters, she was only too happy to be the first to speak to me. Well, what are friends for?
To be honest I was relieved that my first story was going to be Chrissy’s. I was probably more nervous than she was. Obviously, we had told each other confidences before but this was going to be different. I needed her to open up and go into much more detail than she normally would do. So it was with some trepidation that I called on her at her flat with a bunch of flowers for her and a bottle of wine for us to steady our nerves.
Chrissy answered the door in her bathrobe. She looked harassed,
“Oh God I’m so sorry, the Tube was delayed and I’m running so late,”
“Hey don’t worry, it’s no big deal,” I said
“Anything I can do?” She didn’t hear the question she was in such a rush.
Chrissy ran around tidying up until I managed to persuade her not to bother. She disappeared off to get changed. I have to say I find her extremely pretty with long curly red hair, fair skin and vivid green eyes. She came back into the lounge in T-shirt and jeans, I handed her a large glass of wine and she flopped into the sofa.
“Right, how are we going to do this?” She asked.
“I haven’t the first idea. Probably best if you start at the beginning.”
I took a gulp of wine, sat back and tried to look professional. Inside, my stomach was churning with excitement.
Chrissy told me she had been working the lunchtime shift at the library for over a week and had noticed the regulars: well, perhaps I should let Chrissy take over her own story.
***
There was this one guy who came in every lunchtime. Dark hair, dark eyes and a sensual smile. He flashed it at me whenever he came in. He made me feel good, so I began to look out for him. He arrived at the same time each day and disappeared upstairs to the music lending section on the first floor. The library has a large, airy central atrium and the floors wrap around the inside of the building with walkways all around. I was always posted on the front desk when he arrived and got a good chance to look at his bum as he went up to the stairs. He looked fit and very sexy. I tried to catch glimpses of him in the piano section. As he browsed the shelves, he would let the fingers of his hand run along the spines of the titles. It sent a thrill through me to watch him. All librarians have a love of books. I don’t know of anyone in the profession who doesn’t have this tactile thing for books. The way a book feels in the hand is important to whether people will enjoy reading it. If it’s too big or too small to hold or it’s too thick to keep open with one hand, it’s not a pleasurable reading experience. People make this great thing over marketing and cover photos blah blah blah; but, ultimately , it’s like a penis, if it doesn’t feel good in your hand, you won’t want to touch it again. So, to see him running his hands along the books as he did was thrilling. I was imagining those fingertips brushing over me. I guessed, being a musician, his fingers would be experienced.
One day, I got the opportunity to find out how good his fingers were. I knew on that day, I would be in the Reference Section on the first floor and would be able to engineer an encounter. I made sure I looked my best. I wore a green wraparound dress with lacy bra and knickers. No matter how much I tried I couldn’t stop negative thoughts going through my head. Was this a good idea or not? I had never done anything like it before. If I got caught, I didn’t know what people would think. I’m a trifle old-fashioned. Although I was apprehensive, I felt turned on all morning; but as lunchtime approached, I began to worry he may not turn up. I couldn’t keep my mind on my work and off him. I had butterflies in my stomach as the hands of the clock ticked towards lunchtime.
I didn’t have to worry. At 12.30 on the dot, I was looking down to the ground floor and I saw him as he came in and passed the front desk. He looked around and appeared disappointed I wasn’t at the front desk. I was pleased. I had positioned myself at the end of the row of shelves directly in front of the staircase and would be right in his eyeline as he came up. It wasn’t long before I saw his head appearing as he climbed the stairs and then he saw me. He fixed his eyes on me and smiled that smile. I could feel my pulse racing as I knew what I was going to do. Boy, was I feeling hot right then, I was so glad to see him.
He walked to the end of the shelves and ran his fingers along the spines of the books, holding my gaze as he walked towards me. My nipples were aching and I could feel them stiffening. I wanted those fingers on me. He stopped halfway along the row when someone else appeared and he looked away. The contact between us broke; but I knew I had him hooked. As the other man walked past me, I turned to face the shelves and stood so my dress fell open, showing the inside of my thigh. I pretended to file books looking up sideways at him and smiling. When the man left, my music man walked right up to me. I was beside myself, my heart was racing so fast. Chills raced up and down my spine.
When he spoke, his voice was deep and had a lilt to it.
“I was wondering” he asked me
“If you had any Debussy?”
I’ve got some Debussy for you all right I thought, but managed to say there might be some in the Reference Section. I offered to show him. He followed me through from the stairs. I could feel his eyes on me. I am proud of my body as I work out a lot. I knew he was looking at my bum. So I shimmied it as best I could and ran my fingers through my hair. He must have known I was flirting with him and it made me feel naughty to be so forward. I had the beautiful feeling of urgency building up in the pit of my stomach that you get when you think you are going to have sex.
I took him to the back of the section and showed him where the additional music shelves are.
“If you like” I said,
“I can let you have the use of one of our private study rooms.”
I stood against the door of the closest room with the handle in my hand behind my back. I could feel the hardness of it and wished it could be something else.
“Sure, that would be...really helpful.”
There was a slight hesitation in his voice. It was so sexy. I opened the door and walked backwards into the room keeping my eyes fixed on his. The room was the size of a broom cupboard and gives students some peace and quiet, away from the general visitors. He paused looking around him before he moved in to join me.
As he came in, I ended up pressed against the desk and perched myself up on it. In the light spilling in through the half-open door, he could see my dress had fallen open, revealing my thighs. He closed the door behind him and shot the bolt, plunging us into total darkness. I leaned back against the wall to allow him further into the room and put one foot up on the chair. I felt his erection against my tummy as he pressed himself up against me. He put his lips to mine and kissed me deeply. It was a long slow, lingering kiss. My head was spinning. He tasted so sweet. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back. His aftershave was heady in the small, tight space of the room. I was completely high on him. Then, as I had been imagining all along, he brushed those fingertips along the insides of my thighs right up to my knickers. The sensation gave me goosebumps all over. I was so hot, I could have had him right there and then. His fingers felt so good on my skin. It was sheer ecstasy. He swayed away from me and I felt him moisten his fingers. Then, with one hand he pulled the top of my knickers away from my tummy and slid the fingers of his other hand ever so slowly down against me and, pausing, slid them onto my pussy. I wrapped my legs around him as he pleasured me, working his fingers in slow circles and figures of eight around the top of my clit. He got me right on the button and the pressure was perfect. He punctuated the massaging of my clit by dipping his fingers into my pussy to moisten them. The slippery feeling of them was sending me crazy. As we kissed, my breathing got deeper and more ragged. My skin glistened with tiny beads of perspiration. He kissed me again. I could taste the salt of me on his lips and then he kissed my neck. My ear tingled with his breath: that was it. He had pushed me over the edge. As the first waves of tension broke, spreading out from my pussy, I began to buck against his fingers as hard as possible. My jaw ached from burying my face into his collar to stop myself from screaming. He didn’t stop with his fingers but kept up the same steady pressure. It’s a sure-fire way to bring me off; and although it felt like ages, it could only have been a few seconds before I came again. This one was more intense than the first and, as I arched my back, he kissed my neck and moved his fingers right inside me and caught me right on my g spot. He had moved his other hand around the small of my back and was pushing me back on to his fingers. It was impossible to keep quiet no matter how hard I tried and a squeal escaped my lips. Ever so gradually, he began to release the pressure of his fingers inside me and when he came out he avoided stroking them over my clit so as not to hurt me. It was fantastic. Everything he did was perfect. I’ve never known a man to be so good with his fingers. He knew where I was going and what to do to keep me there. If I had been looking for a permanent thing he would have been a keeper, for sure.
He held me as I came down, and put his fingers in his mouth, sucking my moisture from them. He kissed me a final time but only brushing his lips lightly against mine, one hand cupping the back of my neck supporting my head. I didn’t get a chance to reciprocate for him straight away, but I sure made up for it later when we met after work.
Needless to say, we had a few more lunchtime liaisons as well as a few weekends. Unfortunately, he was only visiting the area and moved away shortly after; but we still keep in touch. You never know, one day my tall, dark musician may walk back into the library wanting some more Debussy.
***
“Well,” I said
“That certainly beats watching a chick-flick.”
Aleisha is a friend of a friend and a real character. She runs a small florist’s stall in a covered market in a busy part of London. We all thought she was working too hard, and were concerned she was turning into a workaholic. We needn’t have worried. She called me the other day to let me know things were going better than great and to arrange to meet up to give me the details. I couldn’t resist; well, what are friends for?
We met in the storeroom of Aleisha’s shop over a cup of steaming hot coffee. I found myself wondering why most of my meetings revolve around alcohol or coffee. It must be the happy, chatty factor, I decided. Make it too much of an interview and they clam up tighter than a virgin at an orgy; relax, and well, it all pours out. Whilst I pondered this unfathomable question, Aleisha busied herself with a tied arrangement for a customer who had turned up on spec.
Aleisha started her story with a piece of florist’s twine held between her teeth. I watched her well-practised fingers tying off the arrangement. Great mouth-hand co-ordination I thought. After a few moments she looked up, finished; the arrangement was perfect. She flashed an equally perfect grin.
***
I’ve loved flowers ever since I was little and can’t remember a time when I didn’t want to run my own florist’s. You can keep the fancy, complicated flowers like orchids; give me the happy flowers; daisies, daffodils or tulips any day. I prefer their simpler shapes. When the chance came up to buy the business, I jumped at it and my parents helped me with the business loan. It takes all my time and energy which leaves little time for myself, let alone any romance, but, the advantages are there; I am my own boss and no-one tells me what to do or how to do it. It’s me and my flowers.
Across the market from my stall is an Italian deli run by three generations of the same family. The grandfather sits all day in the glass-fronted office and the father and sons work behind the counter. The place is popular amongst the local Italian community. They make all their own pastas and the cabinets are stuffed with cheeses and fresh meats. It’s busy, especially at lunch time when they have baked pasta dishes, pizzas and panini; it’s a real riot. The best thing is they brew the best morning coffee in the area and the smell of it mixes with the scent from my flowers. It’s a heady mix. I always get my morning coffee from them and have it as I set up my stall. By the time I finish, I have been up for several hours getting blooms from the flower markets, checking orders coming in by phone or over the net. By then, the whole market is in full early morning swing.
Several months ago, I noticed a new guy at the deli: Marco. I’m not going to tell you he was an Italian Stallion; but I fancied him the moment I saw him. After a few days, he made sure he was free to serve me and I practised my excruciating holiday Italian on him. He always said my pronunciation was perfect and I was a natural linguist. I knew he was only saying it, but it made me laugh and brightened my day. You didn’t have to be an Einstein to realise there was a chemistry between us. We both felt it.
I don’t think people realise how hard it is running your own business. It involves long hours. You can easily end up by yourself for long periods and I can’t remember the last time I had a relationship. It’s why Marco and I hit it off so quickly. I was lonely because of work and he was homesick in a strange country. We each had our own seclusion to escape from.
One day last week, things were quiet. I was in the storeroom at the back of the stall and had finished all the orders I needed to do that day. To be honest, I was daydreaming about Marco. He was a welcome distraction whilst I had my hands around an arrangement. I noticed someone at the front of the stall, so I went out to serve them.
I got a pleasant surprise. Marco was standing amongst my displays, looking at the flowers. We smiled, exchanged greetings in Italian and kissed cheeks. He told me he was over from the family’s home town in Umbria and wanted to buy flowers for his grandmother to say thank you for looking after him in London. We talked prices and blooms and browsed the buckets on the display together. He picked up individual blooms and held them up to the light as if they were something precious. A couple of times he stopped and cupped bundles of blooms in his hands and inhaled deeply with his nose amongst the petals. The ones he chose he handed to me saying,
“Belissima.” To see him enraptured by my flowers was wonderful; it was a real turn-on. I had never seen a man take so much time over choosing flowers before. They normally grab a bunch and go, hoping it’s the thought that counts, even though there had been no thought at all.
When we had all the blooms for a decent-sized arrangement, I said I would hand-tie them for him if he wanted to wait. He asked if he could watch, so I took him into the store room. I hoped something was going to happen and had an expectant buzz in my tummy.
Immediately we got in to the store room, Marco spun me around and pressed me to him. I didn’t resist. He held back but only long enough for our eyes to lock and acknowledge each other’s desire before he kissed me deeply. It was all so quick, but I knew I wanted him the instant our lips met. I kissed him back, tasting strong coffee on his breath; our tongues, like our hands around our bodies writhed with passion. He slipped his hand under my skirt cupping my sex. I gasped. He kissed my neck and left my tummy in knots as the insides of my thighs went to jelly and we stumbled back further into the storeroom. We crashed into the table; flowers wrappings and water went everywhere; but we were too engrossed in each other to care or notice. The world outside the storeroom had ceased to exist.
We rolled around the table and I ended up falling back into the big armchair where I sit with my coffee. Thank heavens it is well padded. It was going to get the mother of all poundings. Marco knelt down in front of me. He kept his eyes locked on mine and put his hands on my knees and slowly spread my legs apart. I closed my eyes as I felt the scrape of his stubble up the inside of my thighs. He took a deep draft of my scent as he had done with the flowers.
“Belissima,” he breathed. I felt him murmur the word right into me. I entwined my fingers into his hair and pushed up against his face. He eased down my panties and used his mouth on me slowly at first, drawing intricate patterns and shapes over my bud with his tongue. Each lick and pull of his mouth as he sucked in my lips and rolled them between his was driving me crazy. There was nothing but his tongue as it circled around inside me.
Marco was sending me deeper and deeper into that sexual place I go when I make love. Everything else was blocked out. I felt the tingle of my skin and heard the sounds of our lovemaking and although I could still smell the scent of the flowers all around us I could no longer tell the difference between the scent of the flowers and the scent of me. He was bringing me closer and closer to the edge and as I was going to come, he rose up and pushed himself into me. I felt myself stretching open to take him in and craned my neck back to gasp in as much oxygen as I could. My breasts heaved as I panted in time to his rhythm. He moved powerfully into me with deep, staccato thrusts, forcing the breath out of me with each one; driving me on.
When I come, I have a habit of holding my breath. Sometimes I hold it for so long I practically pass out. It can feel as if an eternity goes by before I let myself breathe again, but it makes my orgasm so much more intense. I felt myself building up, took a deep breath and buried my face into the wing of the armchair, feeling it chafe against the fabric. I clung to the top of the chair as I came, wave after wave, squeezing harder and harder around Marco as he pumped faster through the entire length of my orgasm. He didn’t stop, but ploughed on harder and faster riding me through it. I felt him arching his back, and saw his face turned to the ceiling, mouth open. The muscles in his neck stood out like great corded vines as he supported my legs on his forearms. I thought I was going to burst for want of air, and then he came inside me in short, hot spurts. He remained arched for a time, suspended there above me, his face running with sweat. I let out a long sigh as he relaxed and dropped his face to mine and smiled. We had both needed it.
I grabbed the back of his head in both hands and pulled his face down to me to kiss him again. The sweetness of me had mingled with the bitter taste of his coffee. Our tongues stirred together again and I wrapped my legs around him to pull him as deeply into me as I could. I wanted to claim every last drop he had left in him.
Both of us knew we had to get back to work; a customer could turn up at any minute, so we hurried to get dressed, and he shot off back to the deli. I dropped the flowers off to him after work. Although I have the business to run and he has family commitments at the deli, we do get together occasionally. I am learning to enjoy myself again and have realised I can have some me time as well as running the business. It’s not all work and no play. Marco brings my coffee to the shop each morning and I give him the best of my flowers.
***
So now, Aleisha makes time for her friends as well as Marco. Although she is still focused on her business, she has learnt that some “me time” can lead to a good time all around.
Jean sat across from me as the waiter cleared the lunch plates. He bussed the table casting furtive glances at her breasts. Despite being fifty-five she was still attractive. Laughter lines framed her eyes but her neck was as taught as many women twenty years younger. I reckoned she must have been an absolute stunner when she was younger. She flicked her hair away from her face with a practised movement of her hand. She was enjoying the attention of the younger man. He was getting bolder and leaned across the table pausing in line with her cleavage, making small talk. Jean and I caught each other’s glances under his chest; the flicker of a smile passed between us. Cougar or kitten? I thought to myself; and then as he leaned over further, I saw her glance at his bum jiggling as he wiped the table energetically. She raised an eyebrow at me, smiling all the while. Cougar, I made up my mind.
The waiter headed off to the bar to get the dessert orders as Jean fanned herself with the menu in a faux swoon.
“You know” she said,
“I would never have thought of myself as a woman who goes for younger men.”
Not a cougar then I thought. The confidence was whispered to me from behind the same menu. She had a delightful voice, a gravely brogue but still soft; a French Madame hooked on Gauloises. I wasn’t surprised at figuring her wrong. I have learned, over the years, that my first impressions are usually way off the mark.
“Really?” I said; worried I was sounding judgmental.
“Oh God no. I’m a teacher.”
“I have to be in the company of boys all day.” You had to see her point when she said it like that.
“The last thing I want to do is to start seeing them as... distractions.”
She re-crossed her legs as the waiter came back with the ice cream, making sure she shimmied her short skirt down with her hands as she did so. I saw immediately she had an extra scoop. She smiled at the waiter who turned scarlet and hurried off back to the bar.
“I think he fancies you,” I said, kicking myself for not flirting enough to get an extra scoop as well. The restaurant produces the best home-made ice cream I’ve ever tasted.
“Do you want his name?” She stared straight at me. Her eyes didn’t flicker for a moment. I stumbled over what to say.
“I taught him maths ten years ago,” she leaned forward; her breasts pushed her dessert ahead of her across the table towards me.
“All the girls in the school fancied him.” She paused to pull a spoon of ice cream from between her lips. The gesture left a bulbous smear clinging to the bowl of the spoon. It hung there melting from the heat of her mouth.
“Why is it teachers can always remember your name? Even years after you’ve left school?” I asked. She sat back in her seat, pondering the question.
“You get to spend more time with kids than their parents. Especially these days.” She introduced another spoon of ice cream to the same treatment, placing it on her tongue and enfolding her lips around it. I found myself mesmerised by the sheer sensuality of such a simple moment of pleasure. She swallowed; her eyes tight shut. I could imagine the sensation of cool cream flowing down her throat The essence of vanilla suffusing her mouth. She opened her eyes. There was an expression of regret in them. Whether it was for the children or finishing her ice cream, I couldn’t say.
“For most of them, you are the only adult they spend any time with. Over the years, you build up a strong relationship with them. Then one day, they leave school and it all ends. Gone. It can be heartbreaking sometimes. You are the one person who has cared for them and then, they are out of your life forever, and the two adults who probably cared about them the least get to see them for the rest of theirs.”
A shadow passed over her. The conversation wasn’t going to plan. I was there to record a story for my blog and the discussion was headed in completely the wrong direction.
“But, then occasionally you get a pleasant surprise.” The playful Jean was back, smiling at me around another spoonful of ice cream. “Phew” I thought to myself.
***
I’ve taught at the same school since leaving teacher-training college. I joined back in the early seventies. I had a much better figure then; much slimmer.
I taught the older classes. A levels as they were then. Sixteen to eighteen. I remember a lad in one of my first ever classes, John; he wasn’t great at Maths. He was shy, but nice: thoughtful, you know. The girls never bothered with him. They were all too busy looking for the “bad boys”.
Well, anyway, he left and went on to college and I forgot about him. I never saw him again. A few years ago, I can’t remember how long, I was holding a parent-teacher’s evening. I didn’t have many appointments. I had this one kid for his GCSEs who would try as hard as he could but didn’t have a head for Maths. He needed a lot of help. I had sent a letter to his parents suggesting we should meet that evening to suggest ways the lad could improve his grades.
I worked it so it was my last meeting of the evening, to spend extra time with them if necessary. I felt the lad was worth the effort. He had potential to do well, it was only his Maths holding him back.
Imagine my surprise when John turned up. He had a common surname so I had never realised I was teaching his son. Of course I saw the resemblance straight away when I saw them together. It was great to see John again. I could tell straight away he was still the shy, thoughtful guy I remembered. The wife, however, was a real pain. Extremely offhand, demanding to know what I was going to do to improve the lad’s bad grades. She talked over John and made her son feel embarrassed. I made suggestions, offered extra classes. He wanted to go on to college so he needed to up his grades.
John wasn’t saying much. His wife was doing all the talking so I talked more with her; but I could tell John was eyeing me up. I found myself wondering how such a great guy could end up with such a Harpy. I was unnerved by John staring at me but felt flattered, when I would usually be defensive. Over the years you get used to husbands ogling you, talking only to your breasts and giving you the come on when they think their wives aren’t looking. It’s such a turn off. In John’s case, I think it may have been because I felt sorry for him; thinking back, I felt protective of him all over again. You feel that way with some pupils; but this was more than protection. To be honest, I fancied him straight away and to see this woman going at him, well, it got me all the more interested in him. His silence was also intriguing me.
I want to make it clear, I have never, ever thought of pupils or ex pupils sexually before. You can’t afford to; but, I have to admit, John had grown up handsome. Dark hair, greying at the temples. Well-cut suit, he had obviously done well for himself; except in the marriage stakes. I felt a familiar tension in my tummy and found myself inadvertently squeezing my thighs together to keep the feeling going. I tried to engage him in the conversation as much as I could and our eye contact was direct. I have a habit of sitting on my hands and leaning forward. I had a dress with buttons all the way up the front. I knew the buttons were feeling the strain. The dress would gape open when I leant forward. I caught him looking a few times. His son was too embarrassed by his mother to pay any attention and spent most of the time staring at the floor. She was too into herself to notice anything and stared over me at the back wall as she mouthed off. I don’t like talking to people who avoid eye contact when you speak to them. I got the occasional look at John. He was mirroring the way I was sitting and we exchanged smiles.
The meeting finished and the wife and their son left, leaving John and I at the table. I was surprised they didn’t leave together and then John explained they had been divorced for several years and things were still strained between them but they attended PT evenings together for their son’s sake. He let out a deep breath, slumped back in his chair and admitted it was a tough evening. We laughed and when I said I had finished for the evening, he offered to walk me to the entrance of the school. He apologised for his ex and we made small talk as we got to the car park. There were still other parent-teacher meetings going on and there would be until much later in the evening. We walked through the deserted car park. I remember it was dark and the floodlights were on. When we got to my car, there was one of those embarrassing silences you get when you run out of conversation. My ardour had cooled but I still fancied him. We said goodbye and he leant forward to kiss me on the cheek. Nothing sexual, a simple peck.
I don’t know whether it was intentional or not but we paused, both leaning in towards each other, letting the moment linger. I felt my nipples stiffen. There was a split second; a moment too long to remain strangers but long enough for an unspoken signal to pass between two people who were about to launch into something wild.
“You know?” He whispered into my ear,
“I always fancied you.”
We were standing there, our cheeks hadn’t yet touched. I could feel the heat of his face. He slid the corner of his mouth to mine, and then when I didn’t pull away, he slid his lips fully onto it. My tummy turned to water and I kissed him deeply, pressing my body against his. He pushed me back against my car and I put my arms around his neck, feeling his hardness pressing up against me.
I pulled him away from my car and into a corner of the building where we would be out of sight. We kissed again and his hands explored my body, running up and down my spine and cupping my bottom.
We were kissing hard when I heard the fire door open around the corner. I could hear the Headmaster directing people away across the car park. John and I pulled apart, both breathing hard. I had a flash of inspiration; pressing my finger to John’s lips to tell him to be quiet, I stepped around the corner and asked the Head to keep the door open as I had forgotten my keys. As he held the door, I pretended to rummage in my handbag. The Head stood there impatiently looking at his watch. It was obvious he had to get back for more meetings so I told him to go on ahead and I would make sure the door was closed. He disappeared back inside.
I held the door and when the other people had walked past John, not seeing him in the dark, I called him to me. I held his hand and pulled him through the fire door. We ran on tiptoe down the corridor to my classroom. It was the same room I had taught John in all those years ago. My heart was racing.
I unlocked my classroom door and pulled John inside. I spun him around against the wall. I pressed myself up against him. I kissed him and cupped his crotch in my hand. He was beautifully hard. I was horny as hell and feeling naughty.
I couldn’t believe what we: what I was doing. I felt a tingling thrill run through me.
I leaned up against him, crushing my breasts against his chest and whispered into his ear
“Ever wanted teacher?”
His pants went down quicker than he ever did algebra, I can tell you. I slid my hand around the bulge in his boxers, feeling the weight of him. He had the biggest balls I think I’ve ever known on a guy. They were hot, tight and heavy as hell. I traced the shape of him through the fabric with a fingernail, seeing the agony of anticipation flicker across his face. A small bead of sweat formed at his temple. It trickled down his cheek. I licked it off and pressed my lips to his ear.
“You want teacher, don’t you?” he nodded furiously. I bit into his neck making him gasp reflexively, and then ever so slowly pulled away from him. The heels of my high heeled boots clicked on the linoleum as I stepped backwards.
His hungry eyes never left me as my hands unbuttoned my dress slowly and parted it for him. I stood, legs firmly planted, hands on hips letting him see all of me. He ripped his shirt off and tried to come at me but I pushed him back up against the wall. Teacher wasn’t finished with him yet.
I put one hand against the wall over his shoulder and slid my other hand down inside his boxers and released him. His cock sprang out. I pressed my body up against his so I could feel his skin on mine. His cock was stiff and warm against my tummy. It was hot in there and we had both started to perspire, making our bodies slippery against each other. I felt the beads of sweat trickling down my spine. I worked the flat of my hand between his cock and his stomach and slowly brought him off against me, moving my tummy from side to side and rolling it with my hips. God, I wanted to feel his cum on my skin and boy, did he oblige. He shot short spurts all over my tummy. I felt his knees giving way, his mouth buried at the corner of my neck and shoulder, grunting as he came. I rubbed his cum into my skin and licked my fingers, the soft fragrance of it was intoxicating. I was lost in the moment, the sheer forbidden nature of it. He spun me around and pushed me up against the wall,
“My turn, Miss,” he whispered and plunged his hand inside my panties. It didn’t take long, I can tell you! I was so hot, I came practically straight away. He had me pinned up against the wall with his body, his hand holding me up by my crotch, his fingers still working against me as I came. I twisted my hands into the fabric of his suit, eyes tightly shut, trying desperately not to cry out. My breathing came in huge gut-wrenching gasps. It was unbelievable. My knickers were absolutely soaked.
***
Jean giggled and leaned back swinging her foot lazily over her knee, her shoe dangling from her toes. She gave another spoonful of ice cream the Jean treatment. I hadn’t begun to eat mine yet. I sat there thinking. The scene was still playing through in my mind. It had caught my imagination. All I could offer by way of comment was,
“Wow.” It felt inadequate as an expression but was all I could muster.
“How do you feel now?”
“Regret I suppose. I hadn’t appreciated the attraction of younger men before: but, better late than never.”
The waiter came back,
“Ooo, can I have another scoop?” Jean asked.
“Certainly Miss” he said. We watched him leave, staring at his bum; and then we collapsed in hysterics.
I had driven all the way down to Bournemouth from London. I was tired, but the sea air was going to do me the world of good and, quite frankly, I was excited to be meeting Alexa again. We had planned to hook up at her flat in the evening but she had called during the drive down to say she was working late. She wouldn’t be finished until after ten o’clock, so we agreed to meet up at the restaurant of my hotel to give us the chance to chat, she could eat, and then go straight home to bed.
Alexa’s mother and I had been friends at college and I had met Alexa at one of her mother’s drinks parties. Alexa told me she was working as a pupil at a set of barristers’ chambers in Bournemouth. She cross-examined me fiercely when she found out about my stories, asking loads of questions. The kind of women who tell me their most intimate secrets, why I thought they did, what did they get out of it. She was genuinely interested when I told her of the stories I had gathered over the years. After a while, I managed to turn the tables on her and asked why she didn’t have a man in tow. She is, I have to say, a striking young woman.
“Oh, I’m between men. They’re a distraction,” she said.
“There isn’t enough time to work and play; and besides, I can do without a man at the moment.”
I was interested in how a girl with such strident views on the necessity, or otherwise, of men in her life could be interested in my blog. I didn’t have to wait long to find out. Alexa called me a few days later to say she had been thinking about my stories and would be interested in telling me of an encounter she had had. She expressed surprise when I offered to come down to see her.
“I always prefer to take down stories face to face.” I had explained.
When people are describing their own intimacy, personal contact is much better. You get nuance of meaning and body language that you lose on the phone. Watching people talk about their intimate moments is endlessly fascinating to me. A look, a gesture, a shift in posture, a fleeting moment of sadness or joy can relay so much more when you are across the table from them. I often get the feeling I’m an erotic vampire living off the intimacy of others; but hey, what the heck, anything for a good story.
Alexa flew into the restaurant even later than she thought she would. She was a buzz of energy and concentrated poise, and every inch the young professional woman I remembered. More petite, and definitely thinner, but she had to be taken seriously.
“Oh God you’re not going to tell me I need to eat properly are you?” She had obviously caught the look on my face.
“You’ll sound like my mother.”
“No, I’m just thinking what a marvellous suit,” I lied about what I was thinking, not about the suit.
Alexa certainly knows how to power-dress. Black suit, white blouse, killer heels and the right amount of jewellery to say success not bling. She sat primly at the table. As we sat making small talk, I caught a glimpse of stocking top as she crossed her legs and the flash of a luxurious lining in her suit jacket. She folded her coat carefully on the chair next to her, preening it as if she was an exotic bird of prey.
Interesting, I thought. Prim on the outside but a hint of the exotic if you dug deeper. Another reason why talking face to face gives you an edge to the story.
Alexa grabbed the wine menu and ordered an expensive bottle of wine to get us started.
The waiter returned and went through the ritual of showing the bottle, peeling the seal, pulling the cork and offering Alexa the wine to taste. She held the glass to the tablecloth looking at the wine through the glass, swilled it, sniffed it and pronounced it acceptable. He poured two glasses and retreated.
“God that’s good” she hummed to herself.
“Now” she said fixing me with sharp eyes and a smile
“To business.”
I have to say I was dead excited about what Alexa was going to reveal to me. What dark erotic moments did she have locked away that she needed to express? I could imagine her in all sorts of romantic situations with high flying execs, lawyers, businessmen in all sorts of fascinating places around the world. I was getting giddy trying to hold my concentration. If she could get me into such a frenzy, what the heck could she do to a man in bed? I sat all a quiver, transfixed as she began.
***
I was still at College working as a legal assistant in another part of the country. I had a summer secondment with a firm I had the option of joining when I qualified. The pay was good and I needed the money and the experience. University life isn’t cheap and firms prefer it if you have shown an interest in working during the holidays.
I was twenty and clueless in the bedroom. I hadn’t had many experiences with men, work at College was too damn hard. The guys at University were okay but they were all so into themselves it was painful. I certainly wasn’t going to get involved with any of them. So my sex life was thin to say the least. I wasn’t necessarily looking for someone. I am a great believer in things happening in their own time, but if no-one decent came along, I would have to take things into my own hands and go out and get a man.
Anyway, the firm had a big case on, acting for the insurers of a large engineering company. It was a huge claim for damages. As the company had gone bust, the receivers had been called in. A firm of accountants had been appointed to sort out the financial mess. As they had taken all the documentation offsite and stored it in an old bank building, we had to search any documents relevant to the case. The solicitor in charge asked me and this other student to go to the building and look through the boxes. I was annoyed as it was a hot day and I was wearing a light summer dress. The boxes were going to be filthy; but I didn’t have time to change. This other student, Matthew, and I met down at the store. I hadn’t noticed him before in the office but he was okay, tall and slim; fine hands. He looked shy and was probably as inexperienced with women as I was with men.
We got into the building and there was this mountain of treasury boxes.
I mean a real mountain. These things were stacked to the ceiling and covered half the banking floor. We didn’t know where to start. We looked at each other and laughed. The guy from the accountant’s office stared at us, wished us luck and said he would be back to close up. Other than that, we were on our own and had to get on with it. There was a loo and a small kitchen, but that was it: us and these thousands of boxes.
Matthew and I had to do our best. He started at one end of a pile and I started at the other and we agreed to meet in the middle. You looked in a box and if there was anything interesting you had a rummage, and if not, you carried it to the other end of the room, restacked it and went back for another.
It was hot and sticky in there in no time. I glanced up at Matthew occasionally. The poor guy was in a worse state than me. He had a suit and tie on. His jacket and tie soon came off but he was still suffering in the heat. He rolled up his shirt sleeves and was soon working up a real sweat. There were big marks under his arms and a big wet V down his back. I noticed how muscular his legs were. I can remember him crouching down to pick up several boxes at a time and you could see the line of his boxers through his trousers. You know, it’s the first real time I ever appreciated a man’s bum. I hadn’t noticed men in that way before then. I know it sounds naive but it’s true. It wasn’t only the temperature of the room that was rising.
I was crouching down as demurely as I could, knees together, as you do. I had found a pile of boxes with documents relevant to what we were looking for. I remember I got the feeling he was looking at me out of the corner of his eye. You know the drill; he looks, I look, he looks away. Never quite catching each other looking at each other; all very school playground. I started to feel wonderfully naughty because of the heat and well, because I fancied him, I suppose: but I didn’t know how to make the first move. So I decided to be a bit risqué and gradually plucked up the courage to open my knees enough to give him a flash. The idea he was looking up my skirt made me feel frisky. Occasionally, I would stretch over to another box and of course I would have to open my legs wider. He was getting a real eyeful.
Matthew got more adventurous and started working on a pile of boxes closer and more directly in front of me. It was obvious he was moving for a better look. I pretended to be engrossed in what I was doing, but I was playing a game with him. Sometimes, I would give him a flash and sometimes I would close my legs as he looked. I could see it was affecting him. He worked his way over to a pile of boxes only a few meters away from me and was bending over, looking right up my skirt whenever I gave him the opportunity. His suit trousers were getting impressively tight.
I was horny as hell by then and wondering how to get things moving forward when I picked up a particularly heavy box and the bottom dropped out. Dusty files spilled all down the front of my skirt, leaving a huge black mark. I can remember I swore profusely, and Matthew laughed. I made a comment about it being a stupid job to do in a skirt. He joked that I should take it off. Without even thinking, I said why didn’t he do it for me and that was it. We were all over each other.
Matthew walked over to me and I practically jumped him, wrapping my legs around his waist. He caught me with his hands under my bum. I had always been apprehensive about a man between my legs but God he felt so good. I squeezed his waist between my thighs as I kissed him hard. The heat of the two of us was incredible. I knew I had to have him inside me. He carried me over to the huge mound of boxes and sat me down on a short stack of them in a gap we had created. We kissed deeply and I could feel his hands move up under my skirt and his fingers searching to get inside my knickers to pull them to one side. I practically ripped the buttons of his shirt trying to get it open. I had this urge to feel his chest against me. It was hard and glistening with sweat. I could taste the salt of him against my lips. I fumbled with his zip and belt to get his trousers open and yanked down his boxers. His cock sprang out at me. I had a burst of saliva in my mouth at the sight of it, it was so lovely and straight with a big tight head. I could see it straining to go. He managed to get my knickers to one side and pushed himself into me. The sensation was so intense as I stretched open to envelope him. It’s making me squirm to remember it. Then he started pumping into me. I could feel his balls banging against my bum. We crushed the boxes I was sat on flat. God knows what state the documents inside were in. He was pounding into me with those amazing thighs of his. The closeness and the humidity of our little space in amongst the mountain of boxes was insane. I practically passed out because of the heat and the sweat was dripping off me but he wouldn’t stop. I squeezed him tighter between my legs, hooking my feet around his back. We were face to face and the sweat was dripping off his face onto me. I had never had an orgasm during sex before but the suffocating heat and the intensity of the session sent me over the edge and I came with hot waves of tension flowing up and down my body. My pussy was so tight around his cock I could feel the veins in it. I screamed in his ear. The poor guy must have been deaf for days. Coming as hard as I did must have sent him over the edge, I felt him stiffen as he shot up inside me, lifting me right off the boxes. He then collapsed as his knees buckled. The poor guy damn near suffered heat stroke. He was panting and gasping and kept mumbling God oh God, it was straight out of a cheap porn flick. We stayed huddled for a time with my legs still wrapped around him. He shuddered a few times as my pussy had its post-orgasm contractions and then he went limp and slid out. I relaxed my legs from around his waist; to be honest, I couldn’t grip any longer they were numb.
We went to the kitchenette and dabbed cold water over each other with tea towels to cool down. We were soaked with water, sweat and sex. My blouse had gone see-through. Matthew stared at me, not saying anything. My nipples were so erect they were painful against the inside of my bra. It was obvious what was going to happen next, we were there reading each other’s thoughts. This slow smile spread across his face and I remember thinking Oh my God, here we go again. He lifted me up in one swift movement and plonked me down on the draining board. He slipped my knickers off this time and took me there and then. It was a fast and furious replay out of Fatal Attraction. Luckily he was tall and managed to enter me by going up on tiptoe. It certainly wasn’t as intense as the first time but the boy had stamina, I’ll give him that and he came again. Twice was enough for him and he had to give up. We clung to each other for a while with him between my legs, leaning back against the wall of the kitchen. I was stroking his hair and the flat of his back above his bum.
I pulled his head off my chest and asked him directly
“Are we done now?” All he could manage was a nod and a grin. It’s by far the best sex I’ve ever had. We tidied ourselves up but my clothes were in a real state.
When the guy from the accountants came back later, Matthew, bless him, said I was in the loo and managed to persuade the guy to give him the keys. There was nothing to nick in the building and it meant he didn’t have to open up and lock up for us. Matthew got his car, drove it around the front and I managed to get into it half-dressed and stinking of beautiful, hot, hard sex. We went back to Matthew’s flat and showered off together and then spent the night. He was a great guy, a real gentleman.
It took us weeks to go through the pile of boxes. I still love the smell of files from an archive store. It’s that dusty, damp smell. It brings it all back.
I think it was from then on that I took charge of my own sexuality. It was an eye opener that I could be in control, on my terms. I didn’t have to be the object of someone else’s desire. I could be the subject of my own. Now, if I want it, I know I can get it; so the pressure is off. If I don’t want it, I don’t have to play the game anymore. It’s liberating.
***
The sound of my jaw hitting the table interrupted Alexa mid-sentence. I have to say, it wasn’t anything like I had imagined it would be. The sheer wild abandonment was a million miles away from the poised, prim, controlled woman sitting in front of me.
“Well, what do you think? Worth writing up?” she asked.
“Hell yes” was all I could say.
Amanda is a solicitor and an ex-colleague. We had worked together several years ago until I had received a better offer from another firm. I hadn’t heard from her in a while but being a busy professional woman, I thought work was keeping her busy. She invited me around for a meal, some wine and a chat. What I believed was going to be work related turned out to be something different. She had an encounter for me to listen to. It was going to be a completely different evening from our usual talk of takeovers and mergers.
When I arrived the lights were on low, the music was on and the wine was open. We made small talk for a while. Amanda had heard of my story collection from mutual friends. I was all ears. Everyone has at least one good encounter in them; their Warhol fifteen minutes of fame so to speak. She looked nervous so I poured her a glass of wine and told her to go for it.
“I’ve heard it all before” I assured her, putting on my best bedside manner,
“So don’t be shy.”
“I’m gay” she blurted out without a run up.
I must have done a double take and choked on my wine. Amanda was not the type of girl I imagined to be gay. She had always joined in the chat regarding men. She had dated several. So this was a shock. I decided to be nonchalant. I took a deep breath.
“Thank God for that. By the look on your face I thought it was going to be something serious.”
She laughed, thank heavens; but her eyes had welled up.
“It’s so good to be able to say it, it’s such a relief to tell someone.”
Instinctively, I went over and gave her a hug then pulled away,
“God, you don’t fancy me, do you?”
“Oh no,” she said. Despite myself, I tried not to feel hurt.
“I don’t mean you’re not attractive or anything,”
“Thanks, I think”
“But, well you’re a friend, and I don’t want to lose you.”
“Just friends then,” I said. It sounded weird, like being dumped as a teenager and saying you’ll still be friends.
“So this encounter then” I said, trying to be tactful and changing the subject,
“An ex or a current?”
“Current,”
“Ok...is she anyone I know?” It came out sounding wrong; too pushy, but Amanda didn’t appear to mind.
“My secretary.” She looked at me as if she had told me she had three heads and came from Saturn.
I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Amanda looked hurt.
“You don’t see the irony of falling for your secretary?” I asked.
We both laughed this time. It was good to see Amanda relaxing. I hoped she would be able to be more honest in her feelings and would take this as a good thing going forward. I have a few openly gay friends of both sexes. It doesn’t faze me at all. I have often wondered what it must be like to have sex with another woman. Men are all, well, so much testosterone and force and power. Women are so soft, inviting and gentle. Speaking personally though, I think I would miss the raw, hard, sexual power of a man in the bedroom. Too much softness and femininity, and for me, sex would be missing something essential. Also, as much as I love my vibrator, and I have a stack of rechargeable batteries, there is nothing as good as a big cock inside me; the blend of hardness with some give; not the hard plastic you have to warm up first; but a soft, warm, silky hardness that makes me salivate at the sight and smell of it. I was getting flushed just thinking of it, as I do when I get turned on. I realized Amanda was looking at me.
“Oh sorry” I said,
“I was thinking.”
“It looks like it.”
“Anything you want to share?”
“Hey! I do the interviewing here” I joked.
“But, I was wondering, well if I’d miss a man if I...well you know if I was...”
“Gay?”
“Er, yes...which I’m not” I added and wished I hadn’t.
“Hey, it’s no problem. I do miss a man; sometimes.” She looked wistful,
“But, I’ve found I prefer a woman as a lover.”
She said it matter-of-factly with a smile of self knowing on her lips. Coming from her, it sounded the most natural thing in the world. Which, of course, it is. There is nothing as natural, and as sexy, as a person comfortable in their own sexuality. It is, after all, who we are at our most fundamental.
“So back to your story then,” I said, trying to get the conversation back on track.
I sat back and let Amanda take over the story and, as always, found myself seeing it all happen in my mind’s eye.
***
Penny, my secretary and I; well we’ve always got on well. She’s been my secretary for a few years. She’s good, extremely capable. I can trust her with anything. Although I hadn’t told her I was gay. No one else knows. I am a shy person and don’t want my sexuality to be an issue. Penny is different, she is unashamedly open on the subject of her sex life with her boyfriend. She’s young and attractive and is always buying herself sexy lingerie to treat him and shows me her latest outfits. I have fantasized about her sexually; you know, when I’m alone. I fantasize much more about people I know than celebrities or film stars. It’s much easier to imagine people you know. They are easier to hold in your mind’s eye. Famous people are well, too abstract, too unknown.
On Valentine’s Day, Penny came to work wearing a red dress. She looked fabulous when she came into my office,
“Mike’s taking me out tonight for a romantic meal” she said.
She was so excited. It was infectious. I always feel good when she is happy. I should have realized what it meant ages ago. I was so concerned about keeping my sexuality under wraps, I missed all the tell tale signs that I fancied her.
“I hope you don’t mind” she said
“But I’ve come in ready dressed, I haven’t got time to go to change” she was biting her lip as she does when she asks me for a favour. I find it endearing.
“Sure no problem,” I replied.
Penny turned and pushed the door closed, although it was still early and no one else was in yet. She turned to me,
“I reckon he is going to propose, so I got him something special, wanna see?”
Before I had a chance to say yes or no, Penny had undone the front of her dress and was standing there staring at me in matching red bra and knickers and hold ups. She looked stunning. I must have blushed red. She stammered an apology.
“I’m sorry I got caught up in the moment.”
“No need to apologize” I said,
“He’s a lucky man.”
“Yeah.” She paused; there was something else.
“He doesn’t give me great sex,” she whispered the words even though we were alone.
I was surprised at her being so open. She asked me if I could be discreet and I said of course.
“You know, the best sex I ever had was with another woman.”
I must have blushed more. I could feel the heat from my face burning as red as her underwear. Penny continued
“Only a woman knows what another woman wants.”
Of course I couldn’t disagree. My tummy was churning and I was aware of getting as hot as hell. She was still standing there holding her dress open. I couldn’t take my eyes off her body. I was road-kill. She walked over, put her hands on my desk and leant toward me.
“You know I know, right?” she said.
“Know you know what?”
“That you’re into women.”
The blunt instrument of her statement hit me a body blow. I couldn’t deny it. All I managed was a stammer.
“How?”
“Gaydar, silly” she stood up mimicking speech marks in the air, her dress still open.
I was still stunned. I couldn’t believe my secret was out. Penny walked around my desk and put her hands on my knees with her dress still open. Her breasts were so pert I wanted to lean forward and brush my lips across them. I could smell her peppermint breath and her perfume. I was still burning from embarrassment but my pussy was starting to tighten. The closeness of her, with her hands on my knees was turning me on.
“You know,” she said coyly,
“If you want me, you can have me.”
I was petrified. If someone came into the office and saw us, we were sacked for sure. My mouth worked but the words stuck in my throat.
“Don’t worry” she said.
“Your secret’s safe. I’m not going to tell anyone.”
Penny lent further forward and kissed me on the mouth. It was so sweet I couldn’t help but kiss her back. I raised a hand to cup one of her breasts. Feeling the soft weight of it in my hand was heaven. I could feel her nipple stiffening under my touch. She took my hand and ran it up her thigh to her crotch. The heat of her was incredible and I could feel the gentle give in her mound as I pressed into the cushion of hair between her legs. The feel of the skin of her thighs between her hold ups and her knickers was soft and silky. We were still kissing a slow, gentle intimate kiss. I was going crazy with desire for her. I felt her hand slip up between my thighs and let them fall apart, feeling her fingers tickling up towards my sex. It was thrilling. I shivered and my tummy tightened.
I came to my senses and pulled away. She did her dress up and smiled at me. People began arriving for work and I tried hard to concentrate but I couldn’t. My mind was in turmoil.
Throughout the morning, Penny would come into to my office to drop off the odd fax and letter. She would lean over my desk and give me a wicked smile. She was driving me mad with desire. Shortly before lunch she came in with some signing and walked around my side of the desk. She put her leg up against mine and began a slow gentle pressure. I responded by rubbing my leg up and down against her thigh. Everyone else was at the other end of the office and I let my hand fall to the side of my chair as I pretended to read the letter. I brushed her ankle with my finger tips and felt her shiver. I let my fingers move up on the inside of her calves moving them up and down but going higher each time. She shifted her weight and moved her legs further apart for me. I could hear her breathing becoming deeper as I eased my hand higher, stroking up and down between her knees and then brushed around the lower parts of the backs of her thighs. I was keeping an eye out through the door all the time and when I saw no one was looking I moved my hand up further, feeling where the sheerness of her stockings ended and the silkiness of her flesh began. Penny leaned forward on the desk arching her back. She had her eyes closed and she was licking her lips. If anyone came in we would be done for, but the excitement was too much and I was sucked into it. I raised my hand even higher and brushed her pussy lips through the fabric of her panties, they felt so inviting. I wanted to have my face in her pussy right there, right then.
I saw a colleague making his way towards my office so I removed my hand and carried on reading the letter. Penny stood up and smoothed her dress down as if nothing had happened. He popped his head round my door and left. To be honest, I can’t remember what the hell he was talking about. I breathed a sigh of relief. I signed the letter and Penny disappeared off smiling at me. Waggled her fingers at me in a goodbye wave and closed my door.
Five or ten minutes later I had to go to the top floor to see one of the guys in IT. I have a habit of always carrying my phone with me. I don’t like the thought that someone may pick it up. It buzzed into life signalling an incoming text message. I took a glance and saw it was an MMS. I opened the message and there was a photo of a crotch I recognized as Penny’s in her red panties with the caption “come and get it”. She had to be in my back office, a small space where I have a second desk for major cases where all the files are laid out. All the other staff on the floor had gone to a birthday lunch. I knew we had some time when we ought not to be disturbed; so I went back to my office as quickly as I could. As I got to the rear door, it opened and Penny was there in her panties and nothing else. She had beautiful pert little breasts with faun coloured nipples. I ached to touch them. She was standing coyly holding the door open for me to go in. She beckoned me in with a finger.
“Coming?” she said.
“I went in and locked the door behind me. Penny wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me. Her skin was warm and tight. I ran my hands over her body and inside her knickers cupping the cheeks of her bum. She was so soft and welcoming. My legs were quivering. I nuzzled her neck feeling the strands of her hair as they fell across my face and traced the folds of her ear with the tip of my tongue. The bitterness of her perfume was so different from its scent; it was intoxicating. I took in deep lungfuls of it pushing my breasts up against hers. She pulled away teasing me,
“Why don’t we open you up?”
Penny whispered the words in my ear and spun my skirt around. She undid the zip and let it fall to the floor. I felt vulnerable for the first time. I was a professional woman but a complete novice at this. Each day this girl does what I tell her to do and there she was taking me in hand, literally. From nowhere, she produced a tiny bullet vibrator. She twisted the end. It hummed into life and she cradled it in her hand; then she cupped my pussy with it. The shock of the vibration shot me through the roof. I leant my head back as she moved the bullet back and forth between the lips of my pussy through my knickers and explored my neck with her mouth. Having had my hands up Penny’s skirt only moments before and the thought of her in her lingerie all morning had made me horny as hell. I was so close I was having difficulty holding back. Not that I didn’t want to come, but I wanted to hold off as long as I could. To savour every sweet moment of it.
“God, Penny I’m going to come,” I whispered.
“Not yet, you’re not.” She took the bullet away. I gasped in disappointment, my knees trembling. She was playing with me and all I could do was let her hold sway over me. I was trapped, but right then: free was the last thing I wanted.
I sat on an old chair as Penny knelt in front of me and pulled my panties down. She kissed my pussy staring up into my face. I looked down past my breasts into her eyes as she worked her fingers into me. I closed my eyes as she moved her fingers back and forth deeper and deeper searching inside me; and at the point when as I was going to come she licked my clit and slipped the bullet inside me. She managed to hit my G spot and my clit at the same time. My legs stiffened and my pelvis bucked against her mouth as I felt wave after wave of release flow over me. My chest was heaving as I panted, leaning back into the chair. I grabbed her hair and pushed my pussy into her face, the sensation was incredible. She moved the bullet around inside me so slowly it was bordering on agony and I could feel her lips on me. I felt each lick of her tongue and pulse of the bullet. I came again with my fingers entwined in the long strands of her hair, smelling the scent of my sex as it rose up.
It had been a real role reversal. Penny had proved to be by far the more experienced lover. I felt so naive in comparison. She was my sexual teacher and I was her pupil. Eager to please and be pleased. It made me feel so confused. I can run a boardroom and plan a takeover but she had shown me how little I knew about myself and my body. She had shown me what it is to be loved by another woman. I wanted more and knew I could never go back to being hetero.
My contractions began to ebb away, and Penny stood up to kiss me deeply, easing the bullet out of my pussy. It took me a while to come down and we stood there kissing and touching. I ran my fingers over her stiff nipples and cupped a breast in my hand as she pulled me to her. I didn’t want her to let me go. I felt so safe there. All I wanted right then was for her to hold me tight, squeezing me in her arms.
“What about you?” I asked whispering into her neck as I kissed it,
“It’s okay I’m going to have it later, I don’t mind missing out, this was for you,” she bit into my neck.
“Couldn’t have you missing out on Valentine’s entirely.” She traced a finger from my pussy up between my breasts to my lips and pressed it to them with her mouth.
“Besides,” she said,
“I brought myself off before you came in.”
She made me laugh. I was so grateful to her. I kissed her, longing for the moment to last, but we didn’t have much time left to ourselves.
We both got dressed and managed to get back to my main office as the other girls came back from lunch. They were all laughing and joking and said we had missed a good lunch. Penny, ever quick on the uptake said she had grabbed a quick nibble and she didn’t want to spoil her appetite for dinner. She gave me a wink.
I watched her leave later from the window of my office. Easily distinguishable in her red dress, I watched until she disappeared into the early evening crowd, jealous of her boyfriend but happy for her.
I saw Penny the next day. She was distraught. Her boyfriend hadn’t proposed. He had called her on her mobile to say he was breaking up with her and couldn’t go through with the Valentine’s Day dinner they had planned. The poor girl was devastated so I gave her the day off and went around to her flat after work. We spent the night together and now we are going steady. Give it a while and we will see where it goes, but I am happier than I have ever been; and Penny, well, she is happier too. It’s difficult having a relationship with someone at work. Especially when you work so close and Penny has been thinking of changing her career. If she leaves, you can bet I’m going to give her a great reference.
***
Amanda’s story ended. We had finished off most of the wine curled up on the sofa.
“Penny won’t mind you’re coming out to me?” I asked.
“Oh no, not at all. We find the idea of you writing about our get-together exciting. We read erotic books and surf for pink porn together. It gets us both going. Our sex life is great. She says she doesn’t miss having a man around at all. In fact, she says her life is so much better without one.”
“That’s great.”
“Yes it is” she said.
“I’ll drink to that.”
So Amanda and Penny are together and it sounds like Penny’s ex is missing out on some serious fun. It’s typical. Men don’t know how good they have got it until they lose it. Right, girls?
Anya and I met through a mutual friend a while ago and have been firm friends ever since. She has a different man in tow each time. They are generally rich. The girl has expensive tastes; but they certainly get their money’s worth. A typical East-European, long blonde hair, blue eyes and legs which go all the way to heaven. She used to work in Trade Marks, then as a waitress, shop assistant in a high-end boutique and restaurant manager but gave them all up after a few months; she is a restless, free spirit. She ended up working as a barista in a coffee shop in Central London. It caters for city boys with expensive racing bikes. You know the type, all tight cycling gear, padded bums and even more padded crotches. Anya told me a story the other day that proved it’s not all padding.
***
The coffee shop where I work is not a straightforward coffee shop. It’s a bike shop, bike store, bike repair shop and coffee shop, locker room, all rolled into one. There are changing rooms and showers and places to store the bikes. Young execs who are into cycling can cycle into the City, shower, change into their workgear, walk or catch the tube to work, come back in the evening, change and cycle home. They don’t have to go to the gym, they save on rail fares, its far quicker than driving and, well, I get to see cute buns in tight cycling gear all day long. It’s great, and I get paid for it.
As the guys cycle a lot, they are extremely fit. Most of them haven’t got an ounce of fat on them. Behind the counter at the cafe, there is a window onto the alley where they ride in and I can watch as they arrive in their cycling gear. They are all hot and steamy from their morning ride. I love the smell of a man after a good workout, it gets me turned on. It’s strange the way men’s sweat smells different. I’ve never had two boyfriends smell the same. If I don’t find the smell of a man attractive, it’s an instant turn off. The odour I love is fresh sweat; like right after hard, fast sex, which is how I want it. If I can’t get my man to work up a sweat in bed, then I know he’s not going to last. Soft, romantic, fluffy sex doesn’t do it for me. It has to be fast and energetic. I have to feel my heart pumping in my chest as well as my man between my legs. It’s why I go through so many men: there aren’t many who can keep up with me. I burn them out fast. Unfortunately, the richer they are, the less fit they are.
There was this one guy who used the coffee shop, Adrian. He worked as a dealer in a Bank. He was polite. Most of the guys can be offhand but he was always polite. He kept himself to himself and didn’t cycle in with the rest in a big pack. He started after them, around New Year; it must have been his New Year Resolution to get fit. I made it my personal goal to encourage him. He soon burned off his excess fat to reveal a good toned body. I noticed he was getting fitter as he got slimmer. Great thick thighs, long legs, broad chest, you could see he had a gorgeous flat stomach under his cycling vest. It made you want to run your fingers along the contours of his abs. He was keen, very focused; he had this intensity which gave me goose bumps; and his smell! Well, it sent me crazy.
Each day, Adrian came in before having a shower so I got to serve him his coffee at the bar. We have screens playing the CNN channel and he watched the news when he came in to order his coffee. I snatched glimpses of him as I made his coffee, a tall skinny latte. He has this habit of standing hands on hips, head on one side. I love the line of his chin, it’s chiselled, strong, extremely masculine. His smell was gorgeous, so I always made up an excuse to walk around and stand alongside him so I could smell him better. There was this woody scent to him, it reminded me of the forests back home in the Ukraine, spice and pine all mixed into one.
Anyway, after a few months, he spoke to me at the cafe bar,
“What’s the earliest time you open in the morning?” It was the first real conversation we had had, and it was the first time I had seen his eyes. They were a deep mocha with flecks of chocolate.
“The manager opens up at 7” I said.
“Oh,”
“Why? Isn’t it early enough for you?” The machine was spluttering and spewing out huge clouds of steam as I heated up the skimmed milk for his latte. I was trying hard not to look at his crotch on those tight cycling shorts of his. He had to talk louder over the noise of the machine,
“For the next few weeks I’m coming in extra early and wondered what’s the earliest time I could come in. I don’t want to have to drive.”
“Oh, I see” the thought of missing out on his bum for several weeks was too much to bear.
“I could ask if you want?”
“That would be great, I’d appreciate it”
“It’ll cost you.” I was feeling adventurous. The truth was, I didn’t want the conversation to end.
“Oh in what way?” he looked nervous,
“Oh I’ll think of something, how about a red hot tip.”
“Oh right, yeah. I didn’t take you for a trading type.”
It wasn’t what I had in mind but it would do for starters. He went off to get showered and I spoke to the manager. He said he couldn’t open up any earlier as he had to get over from the East End and as he had a family, he didn’t want to leave too early. So it was a no. I was disappointed, I had set my heart on helping Adrian out. Then I had an idea.
“I live close by.” I ventured, the glimmer of a plan in the back of my head.
“I don’t mind getting up earlier and opening up for you. I’ve heard the other guys say they want to come in earlier as well” I lied,
“If we offer earlier opening times, we might get more customers,”
“Are you sure?” he looked doubtful,
“Well, why not try it? If it doesn’t work out then we can go back to normal.”
“But, would you be safe opening up by yourself?”
“With a locker room full of guys?” I lied again,
“How much safer can a girl get?”
So that was it. It was agreed for a trial period I could open up early and if it worked out then I would get a raise, more hours and at least initially I would have Adrian to myself in the morning. I was pleased with myself. Adrian was surprised when I told him I had managed to persuade the boss to let me open up early for him.
“Of course,” I told him,
“I wouldn’t do it for anyone else.” He laughed; he had no idea.
So for the next few mornings I opened up early and Adrian would arrive at six. We had the place to ourselves. The other regulars didn’t start arriving until way after seven. He would come in, get his coffee and go into the locker room to get showered and changed. He kept saying how grateful he was. I enjoyed it being only the two of us. I was trying to think of ways to get him to ask me out but it never worked. I was frustrated. I don’t usually have to try too hard; but Adrian was proving a hard nut to crack. I needed a plan, or a stroke of luck.
On the third morning, Adrian was late. He had worked up a hell of a sweat and came in dripping. It gave me an instant rush. I couldn’t stop imagining him naked and sweating after sex. He hung his bike up on the rack. His muscles went all taught from his calves to his shoulders as he reached up. His bum was tight as rock in his shorts. I could feel the temperature between my legs rising. He came over to the bar and apologised.
“I was working late and overslept” he wiped the sweat off his forehead with his arm.
“I had to push to make up the time.” The sweat still dripped off him,
“Hell, I’m sweating like crazy,” he was breathing hard still.
“Don’t worry” I said looking him up and down. The sight of him all sweaty had me going.
“You aren’t that late,” I said.
“It’s only just gone six.” He called me sweet and leant over the counter to peck me on the cheek. It was unexpected,
“You don’t mind do you?” he asked.
I had his coffee ready and waiting for him, keeping it hot under the counter. I had my hand on it and could feel its heat through the corrugated cardboard sleeve. Then I had a thought,
“No, not at all” I left his coffee behind the counter before he saw it was ready. I had a plan.
“Look” I said,
“To save you time, why don’t you go and get showered and I’ll bring your coffee in to you.”
“You would? I mean, you don’t mind?” Are you kidding? My mind screamed.
“No, just make sure you’re decent when I knock.”
“Ah okay. You sure, yeah, you won’t get in trouble for coming into the men’s changing rooms?”
“Well, if you don’t tell, who’s to know?”
“Okay then.”
He walked off towards the changing rooms. I brought his coffee out from under the counter as he opened the door to the changing rooms and went in. Now I thought to myself, it’s all down to the timing.
I walked to the changing room door, thinking about what Adrian was doing behind it. I chanted slowly, walk to the locker, open the locker; I heard the sound of a metallic clang from behind the changing room door. Top off, shoes off; clang, clang; they hit the inside of the locker. Now, I thought; shorts down, towel over shoulder and....
I opened the door to the changing room and walked in. Adrian was standing there with his towel wrapped around his waist. Damn my timing was off.
“Oh Christ. I didn’t. God I’m sorry. Did you knock. I didn’t hear” I stood there with his tall, skinny latte in my hands, piping hot and ready to go.
“You know, I have always wanted to know what it looked like in here” I let my accent go thick. Men love it when I talk in a heavy Russian accent. I don’t know why, but it sends them crazy. I call it my Bond Girl voice. Judging by the towel, it was having the desired result. He tried to cover himself.
“Oh hell please, just put the coffee down, I didn’t realise you’d be so quick.”
“Don’t worry,” I said,
“I’m a fast worker. The coffee will keep” I eyed him up and down
“But I won’t.”
“Excuse me?”
I walked over to him in my best long legged Russian, put down his skinny latte and stood right in front of him. I could feel the heat blasting off him like he was a furnace. A vein throbbed in his neck. He was damn lucky I wasn’t Transylvanian or I would have bitten his head clean off. A drip of sweat beaded at his temple and ran down his face and then other little beads of perspiration began breaking out all over him. I ran my fingers over the sheen of his body. He was still trying to cover himself with the towel. I was glad to see the towel wasn’t adequate for the job.
“It is hot in here no?” I said
“Ah yeah.”
“Then perhaps I should take these off.” I stood legs slightly apart in front of him. I unbuttoned my blouse taking my time over each button and slipped my blouse off. I have nice breasts; I’m proud of them and men like them because they are small and perky. My nipples were stiff with anticipation. He couldn’t take his eyes off them. I undid the button to my trousers and took the zip between my thumb and index finger and slowly slid it down one tooth of the fastener at a time and then peeled down my trousers to reveal my panties. I had purposely put on my high heels instead of my work flats. I wanted to make an impression and I’m sure I managed it.
I reached past him and twisted the knob of the shower to get the water running. The spray caught my arm and I leant forward to wipe it off on his towel. The coarseness of it tingled my skin and I got a whiff of his scent.
“I think you need shower” I said and ran my fingers over his chest, shoulders and back as I walked around him in my underwear and high heels. The steam from the shower was starting to rise and so I got into it. I held my head back and let the hot water splash over my body. I soaked my hair into one long wet plait pushing it back with my hands. My underwear went see-through as I let the water play over me. The shower jet was powerful and I stood back to let it hit my pussy through my knickers. I’m completely shaved down there and he could see everything through the fabric. He stood there watching every move I made.
Adrian had hung a bottle of shampoo in the shower so I poured a big creamy pool of it onto my hands and then soaped myself all over. The suds felt creamy and luxuriant against my body and I was getting myself all lathered up. I pushed my hand inside my panties and fingered my pussy as he watched. He was obviously enjoying watching me. It felt good, I was his private shower dancer. I looked at him. The look on his face had changed. I could tell he wanted me is I stepped forward out of the shower and grabbed the towel,
“I need your towel,” I said, and ripped it out of his hand.
He stood there with his beautiful cock pointing straight out at me, it twitched as the blood pumped through it making it shine red and purple in the steam. He had made up his mind and got into the shower and pushed me back under the water, kissing me as the water played over us. Our bodies slipped and slid together.
We stood facing each other. I looked down at his sex and ran my hands over his cock and balls lathering them up. His balls were tight up inside him which accentuated the length and girth of his cock. I couldn’t wait any longer and had to have him so I knelt down and took his cock in my mouth. It tasted soapy and the suds bubbled up at the corners of my mouth. It was a shame I didn’t have his hot sweaty cock straight after cycling, but I was sure I could arrange it the next time. He held his hand softly against my cheek keeping the hair away from my mouth and guiding my head forwards and backwards as I worked his cock with my lips. I had to change position a few times as it was difficult to kneel in my heels but I was definitely getting his approval by the way he was gasping. I let his cock slip out of my mouth and moved my face directly under his balls and licked them, his wet hair sticking to my face. I took him in my mouth again and held him behind his knees to let him move his cock in and out of my mouth by himself. My mouth slurped and pulled at his cock as my lips stretched over his head and down his shaft. He asked me to stand and pulled my panties to one side and moved his fingers inside me.
“I love you hairless” he whispered in my ear.
“I am glad you approve, now why don’t you give me what I need?”
We were both wet, soapy and horny as hell. I turned my back to him as he hugged me running his hands over my body and breasts and down to my hips. He pushed me forwards and as I leant over I rubbed my bum against his cock. He pulled my panties to one side and then pushed himself into me. I could feel him slipping into me with the water pummelling on my back. I pushed my hands up against the tiled wall and braced myself, pushing back against him as he fucked me. Luckily I’ve got long legs and I could reach the edge of the shower tray and get my feet in the corners. He had great leg muscles and though he must have cycled a long way he still had a good few miles in him. He pumped into me better than I had had for ages. I felt each thrust filling me completely, he sped up until he was taking me furiously. He rubbed my tummy with his hands and then let them slide around my back and held onto my hair pulling my head up. The feeling of being penetrated and having my head pulled back by my hair is guaranteed to send me over the edge and I came, bucking my hips back against him as he held them. I felt him shudder and could tell he was coming; boy, did he scream. I thought he was going to yell the place down. It took him a while to stop coming; he couldn’t have had sex in a while. I stepped away from him to let his softening cock slide out of my pussy. The shower hit him in the chest and he pushed his hair back over his face tightening his stomach and chest. He looked so good. I knelt down in front of him and took his cock in my mouth again and sucked what remained of his cum off him cupping his balls in my mouth. I must have taken all he had to give because his cock sagged. I was disappointed, but it was perhaps best I left, as it was getting late and other customers would be arriving soon. I took his towel and rubbed myself down in front of him.
“Here” I said,
“I think you will be needing this” and tossed it to him. I turned around, picked up my things and walked to the door,
“Don’t let your coffee go cold.” I said at the door and left him. I ran into the girls changing area and got dressed into my work outfit. I was barefoot, commando and back at the bar when he came out of the locker room in his suit ten minutes later. He came up to the bar,
“So” I said,
“Early mornings working out okay for you?”
“Yeah” he nodded.
“Any chance of a spicy topping on my skinny latte tomorrow?” he asked.
“I will see what I can do,” I said.
***
Anya told me she and Adrian tried every combination on the menu over the next few weeks and some combos the management hadn’t thought of. The cafe is doing great and she has been promoted to manager. The word got out that the cycle cafe was opening earlier and a whole new load of clients started coming in; sadly, their early mornings aren’t what they used to be. Anya promises me she still manages to get Adrian worked up into a sweat and when he comes to stay at her flat at the weekend, the first thing they do is have a shower. It’s costing her fortune in shower gel so I’m told.
The first time I saw Cass was when she applied for the job as my secretary. I had never interviewed anyone before. I had always got what I was given. For a while I had the feeling, being a woman, I got what no-one else wanted. So I was determined to make my own choice this time.
Cass was the last applicant in a dwindling line of demure applicants who all studiously avoided looking at her; but you could see what they were thinking. Everything she wore was in “toos”. Her skirt was too short, her heels were too high and the colours of everything were too loud. Her skirt, as a friend of mine would say, was evidently “made out of mountaineering cloth”; it was constantly riding up. She teetered into my office pulling down the hem at the front of her skirt; then offered me the hand to shake,
“Charmed, I’m sure,” she said. I felt like I was interviewing Elisa Doolittle.
“God, them out there” she hoicked a thumb at the door,
“Need a fart or what?” She cackled, sat, crossed her legs and pulled the hem of the skirt down.
She was in all respects the antithesis of a sober legal secretary and I wondered what qualities she had that could suit her for the position. The other candidates had been okay, but I was looking for someone special. Someone who could handle tough demanding clients and not take any nonsense.
“Why did you leave your last position?” I asked, noting it had been as a PA to a friend of mine.
“Irreconcilable differences,” she said bluntly. I couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.
“‘E told me to give you this,” she thrust a tatty envelope at me. It smelled strongly of tobacco.
The once sealed envelope had my name on it. I recognised the handwriting. The note said “If you don’t give this girl a job, you will regret it”. So that was it then, on a sudden impulse, I found myself saying,
“You’re hired.”
“Oh shit, really?” Stand, pull, handshake.
Cass turned out to be brilliant. If she had one failing, it was her voice. Compared to her, a fishwife would sound like Katherine Jenkins. Right from the start, the other secretarial “ladies” gave her the cold shoulder. They had done the same to me. We were rebels together.
On the first morning she came in to work dressed exactly the same but in different colours. I learned later that her take on fashion was she had found what suited her, so why change. Who was I to argue. She bustled in to my office,
“Coffee, Darlin’?” I nodded.
“Biscuits?” I shook my head.
“Nah, probably best not eh” she looked me up and down, and tottered out with my mug.
I stood up and looked at myself in the glass doors of my cabinets. My reflection stared back at me disapprovingly. I had gained a few pounds. My suits had been getting progressively tighter. No one had said anything, not my friends, not my partner, no-one. Weight gain is similar to your partner having an affair. Everyone sees it, everyone knows it, but no-one tells you. Cass earned my respect right there. My friend had been right. She saw it, and told it as it was; ergo she was invaluable.
We got on like a house on fire and it was largely thanks to her that I got as far as I did in the next twelve months. Sadly, her wanderlust took over and she left to go travelling. Well, when I say travelling, it turned out to be a yearlong pub crawl around Ibiza.
“That’s travelling inn’ it?” she cackled as she left. I was genuinely sorry to see her go. The rest of the office was relived she was going.
Not long ago, I got a text from Cass. She was back. My “ass” was ordered over for a drink at her local in the East End. So that is how at 9:30 one evening, I came to be standing on a pavement outside an East End pub in heels and designer jeans looking down at the text and up at the shabby building in front of me. With a sigh, I noted they matched.
“You gonna be all right luv?” asked the taxi driver. I was concerned he looked concerned.
“Er, yes, I’m meeting a friend.” He looked around on all sides like a fighter pilot watching out for bandits.
“Okay, your call” he said, gunned his engine and left me standing there.
“You in the right place luv?” I turned around slap bang into the chest of Hagrid out of Harry Potter. I looked up past the ZZ top beard into a pair of startlingly black eyes. I’m five foot eleven in flats so, to my Hermione, this chap had to be, well, much taller, maths was never my strong point.
“Er, yes.” I hesitated,
“I’m meeting a friend”
“You sure?”
“Er, Yes” I was having doubts but had no taxi and nowhere to go except in there. The door of the pub looked ominous. It was the doorway to every bad dream I had ever had.
“Cass, my friend” I don’t know why I added her name as an explanation.
“She said she’d meet me in there.” I pointed a finger round him at the nightmare door.
“You a friend of Cass?” There was a hint of a twinkle in the blackness but it disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.
“Yes.”
“You’d better come in, then.” He turned and strode into the pub, forcing the door open like they do in Westerns. Light flooded out. He paused at the door, looked back at me one final time as if to satisfy himself I wasn’t a figment of his imagination, and bellowed inside,
“Cass?”
“What?” The response had a familiar shriek to it. Memories surged back.
“I found this outside, says she’s with you.”
Silence. Shriek.
Cass came down the aisle of the pub like a steam train on acid. She hadn’t changed. Denim skirt, cowboy hat, cowboy boots, tight white T-shirt and frizzy blonde hair. The only thing missing before she crashed into me was the pull of the hem. As she squeezed the life out of me, I had the chance to look round the inside of the pub. Through the red haze of my asphyxia, I took in Cass’ local. If you can imagine the space bar scene from Star Wars but shot in the East End, you’ve got it.
“You met Tone then?” She had let me out of the death hug and had hooked her arm into mine.
“Who?”
“Tone,” she slapped the man-mountain to indicate who she meant,
“my baby” she slapped him again.
“Thanks Babe” she stood on tiptoe and gave the man-mountain a kiss full on the lips holding on to her hat. If it was possible, I would have said Tone blushed.
“Come on” said Cass and dragged me bodily through the crowd,
“Ain’t he gorgeous?” she whispered to me as we made our way to a table in the far corner,
“Yeah, real cute.”
We got to our table. I was introduced to a line of men, all in bike leathers. When the introductions were finished, Cass shrilled,
“Okay boys, piss off, girl talk.” The men dutifully “pissed off”.
“‘ere” she said not lowering her voice one decibel.
“You still collecting them mucky stories?” A few people looked around. I’m hardly a prude, considering what I write, but I do want to keep a modicum of secrecy over the matter,
“Erotic encounters” I replied lowering my voice,
“Yeah them.”
I nodded.
“Brill, I’ve got one for you.” I leant forward to hear her better as thankfully she had lowered her voice,
“‘Ere Tone” she bellowed at full register, I shot back in my seat again, clicking my jaw to get my hearing back,
“Grab us some Asti will yah, we’re celebratin’.” My taste buds shrivelled in horror.
“You up for it?” She asked.
“Yeah absolutely” I said, “fire away.”
***
I was walking past this garage in the East End after I got back from Ibiza last summer. I knew this guy rented it to do up old bikes. I love bikes. Nothing beats the smell of oil and leather. Anyway, I’d never been in and so I thought, well, why not?
I got level with the doors and there was this awesome throaty roar. Not the whine of some modern Japanese thing. I’m talking deep, like a lion in heat on the Discovery Channel. The alley was shaking with it.
I stuck my head around the door and there was this huge guy, Tone. T shirt, beard, leathers, revving this 1960s classic Triumph Bonneville. He was intent on this baby, like there was nothing else in the world. I didn’t think he had noticed me as I walked in. I can make an entrance especially as I had my beach body on and was brown as a nut from Ibiza; but, bugger me, he was so concentrated on this bike the world could have ended and he wouldn’t have known it’d gone.
The place was immaculate: it wasn’t so much a garage as a shrine. This guy was obviously a real engine-head. Tools were laid out in order, engine parts were laid out on benches. The lathes and grinders were sparkling. There’s this smell in the air of engine oil, petrol, grease and sweat. Working on bikes is real heavy work. You can’t work on a bike without generating serious body heat. Last summer was hot and it was hotter in the garage than it was outside. As I walked in, he was squatting down by the tail pipe and was teasing the throttle. His eyes were closed, he was communing with it. In real deep, zoned out. The noise was deafening. I couldn’t hear myself think. He said afterwards he heard me come in, said my heels were off with the tappets. He stood up wiping his great big hands on this rag. Tone is tall and he kept going up. He was a full two foot taller than me when he stopped. I barely came up to his chest. He was like a great big grizzly bear. He didn’t say much. He’s a man of few words. He doesn’t need many. He’s got these great eyes, and great big hairy arms. Hands as rough as shovels when he holds you. God knows how many pairs of tights I’ve gone through since I met him.
He was looking at me, like, what you doing here.
“Hi” I said all nonchalantly, and he just stares at me.
“Great bike.” He grunted, like, what do you know.
Now, I know bikes. My Dad, bless him, was a mechanic. He had me stripping down engines before I could dress myself. This bike was a classic, like the one Steve McQueen rode in the Great Escape. It was 650 cc, twin carbs, 44 horse power of deep throated sex. I told him the timing was out on one of valves. He grunted again like I’d told him his dick was cockeyed. He revved the engine. You could see it in his face. He knew I was right. He checked it and the inlet valve was opening at 32 instead of 34 degrees. There was this respect. Grudging; but respect.
He let me closer in. I could smell the oil and grease on him and the bike. It always gets me going. Bikes have always made me horny. There is nothing better than having something big and throbbing between your legs to get you going. My first boyfriend had a bike. It was nothing massive, not even 250cc but the first time I went on it, I had to have him. I got this buzz, it went straight from the engine through my panties. I reckon the resonant frequency of my clit is set to bike engines. From then on, a guy could have been the ugliest sod in the world with two heads but if he had a bike and he let me straddle it, I was his. I went out with so many guys with bikes. All kinds, I didn’t care, just had to be a bike. It’s a huge vibrator on wheels. You can ride it in public, get horny and go anywhere. Until you’ve had a proper bike between your legs, you haven’t lived. The power of a bike on me is phenomenal and this bike was bringing us closer.
Tone let me right up to the bike: he was in the middle of stripping her down. The exhaust was hooked up to a machine to sniff the exhaust to analyse it and take the fumes out the garage. I’d never seen one before. My old man taught me to assess an engine the old fashioned way. Sight, sound, touch, taste and smell. Each oil, grease and lubricant smells unique. Put the same oils and lubes through different engines, give em a few days and they’ll taste different. Give me two bikes and drain the fluids and God if I can’t tell you which came from which. I’ve got this great sense of taste and smell. My Dad used to say if you want to be a good mechanic, ride English bikes, there’s always something needs doing.
The smell of this bike was all over this guy. He must have ridden her to hell and back and there she was in all her glory, waiting for him to put her back together again and ride her some more.
I got between him and the bike. He didn’t take to that at first. Men don’t, bike first, girl second; but I didn’t care. She was a beauty. I ran my fingers over the tank. She was so beautifully put together it was a shame to see her naked. Boy, she had some pipes. He still had his hand on her throttle and I asked if I could sound her out. He was reluctant, men don’t like a girl touching their bike. They can straddle it if they let them but they can’t touch the controls. I reckon he knew what I was doing, so he let me. I gave the throttle a gentle twitch. I could see him flinch. It was like I had my hand round his dick. The grip of the throttle was real thick and ribbed for extra riding pleasure. It was so sensitive, the smallest tweak and she responded. It was the same with Tone. Any small movement of his throttle and you could see it on his face.
I squeezed closer into the space between his arm and the bike. I was horny as hell. The smell of oil and grease was working its old magic. I tell you, I was getting all greased up myself. I was wearing this short denim skirt and boots. As I squeezed between him and the bike I had to rub my ass against him. He didn’t back off. Not many men would. There I was, between him and this she-monster, revving the fuck out of her. I leant over to rest my forearm on the tank to listen better and to touch her. You can get a better feeling if you can feel the vibe of her. Listen, feel, taste. Just like a woman. The more senses you have on her, the better. Except, men don’t listen too good.
I asked him if he was okay with it. He shrugged. We hadn’t spoken much to each other. We were talking to the bike and through her, to each other. Any biking relationship is a threesome. You, your man and the bike, and not in that order. The bike comes first always. I tell you she can give you the best ride you’ve ever had. She is clean, powerful, never argues, never tries to two-time you. It’s the man does that. The bike is always faithful.
Anyway, I was bent over between this guy and the bike, listening to her. I felt this huge hand come around my waist. The feeling of the engine and the noise of her was right inside me, buzzing my pussy. She was purring to me, this is my feller, he’s a great guy, how’s about we do it. She had the voice of a siren tempting, seductive, it was like she was mesmerising me. I let his hand wander over me as I stroked the faring. She had these great lines and I let my fingers play over the chrome work as his hands played over my ass. I could just fit my hand around the forks. I felt my jean skirt being pulled up and these big hands on my thighs and then between my legs. All the time I was revving her slowly, gently, I could feel her on the road and between my legs. I felt his zip go down and his leathers being pulled open. I squirmed my arse against the bulge in his groin. My God, it felt huge. I revved the engine again and felt the vibe going through me. I was all lubed up and needed him inside me. I let him push into me as I continued to rev the engine slowly at first, listening to the throb of the engine. He pushed himself further into me and started to get the rhythm going. He had his hand on the throttle over mine and as he moved into me he revved the engine again. The engine was giving us the rhythm, urging us on. I bent right over the tank and let him take me deeper, surrendering the throttle to him. He thrust into me harder and faster. It was fantastic. I could feel the vibration in me as he fucked me. It was hot down by the engine and the noise was deafening. I couldn’t hear or sense anything else. It felt like I was this big engine and was being revved between my thighs. My pussy was clenching as I matched the rhythm of him and bike. I flicked my hair out of my eyes with one hand and looked back. I could see this huge guy in leathers fucking me hard with my skirt up over my arse, it was brilliant. He slipped out of me and straddled the bike and then made me sit on his cock facing away from him with my feet on the pegs. I took over throttle and pumped up and down on his cock, revving the engine faster and faster in shorter bursts. He sped up so I matched the throttle to his thrusts. I could feel his dick rubbing inside me and then he came and I revved the engine in one long burst as he held my hips with one hand and thrust himself deep inside me. The smell of our sex mingled with the oil and the grease. His rough hands scratching my skin were fantastic.
I turned around and sat on his lap, face to face and worked his dick inside me again. I rubbed myself off, leaning back over the handlebars. I felt his great big rough hands on my stomach and over my breasts as he forced them up under my T-shirt. The smell of the oil and the grease was fantastic. He leant forward right over me, revving the engine, my knees right up by my chest and his arms holding the handle bars. I was in the centre of this vibration inside this cocoon of noise. I worked my fingers on myself until I came. I tell you it was the hardest I’ve come in years.
I’ve had sex after a good ride before but never on a bike. It was amazing. I think I cried. He looks down at me and says
“We going to get married or what?”
Well, what can a girl say to a proposal like that except yes.
***
“Well, what do you reckon, worth it?”
It’s not often I am rendered speechless but Cass had managed it. Despite my initial reservations and the look of Tone, I have to say I had found the story thrilling in a peculiar way. I’m a secret petroholic, I love the smell of petrol. I have been known to hang around on garage forecourts to get a good whiff of the stuff. I often find smell is the sense which affects me most deeply. It can bring back memories faster than any other. So I had connected to Cass’ story.
“Yeah,” I said slowly,
“Absolutely worth it,”
“Cheers” said Cass.
“Bottoms up.”
All I had to do now was get through a bottle of Asti Spumanti.