Loading...On Monday I appeared for work. There I met Denise, the secretary/paralegal who was also Ron’s sister. Denise was thirty-five with long brown hair that reached her ass, a curvy figure, impressive chest, and killer legs. Her round wide round face featured large green eyes, a prominent jaw, and a large mouth with full lips.
She probably could lose fifteen pounds, but some of that weight was sitting in those boobs. She was wearing tight jeans and cowboy boots. I liked her immediately; she was a ball, upbeat and funny with a definite country air to her.
We gathered in Michelle’s office, which was as neat, meticulous, and classy as her husband’s a mess. Denise and I were to spend the morning working in the rear conference room organizing documents. There, Denise briefly related her life story. Three months pregnant and eighteen years old, she had married her high school sweetheart. The marriage had been a disaster. Both she and her husband had a problem with alcohol and when, after two years, she sobered up, she discovered that, among other things, he was much easier to tolerate when she was drunk. He also stunk in the sack. One night, after a big fight, she retreated to her parents’ home to find them on vacation and her baby brother home alone. He held her when she cried, gave her “one of his amazing back rubs,” and, having driven her to the peak of sexual arousal, made love to her. It was the night she discovered how great sex could be.
“Honey, I’m not like Michelle or what they have planned for you. I don’t use sex to get what I want, other than, of course, sex. I never say no to a good fuck.”
Her phone line buzzed.
“That would be my brother. It’s time for his blow job.”
At the doorway she turned and faced me. “I like woman too and never play hard to get. So anytime you’re interested, let me know.
Not quite sure of the office protocol, I continued working on the assignment.
* * * *
I’d been employed about a month when Michelle, on a Friday afternoon, stuck her head in my office and let me know that we’d be taking the rest of the afternoon off to attend a private yoga session. She deflected my protest that I had no clothes. She gad picked out my outfit; it was in the car. On the way out we stopped at Ron’s office. Denise, her jeans puddled on the floor, her tits pressed against a hastily cleared section of his desk, was taking Ron’s fat dick up her ass. She was shoving back at him as hard as he was slamming it to her.
“FUCK ME BABY BROTHER, FUCK YOUR SLUTTY SISTER, MAKE HER FUCKING COME YOU FUCKING STUD, YOU COCK FUCKING GOD.”
Michelle caught his attention, which he acknowledged with a slight nod of his head. We locked the door on the way out. Michelle and I drove in her Jaguar to a sumptuous private residence; half a dozen cars were parked in the circular drive way. And not just any cars: there was a Mercedes, two BMW’s, a Lexus, and a couple of Cadillacs.
Michelle and I were greeted at the door by a handsome Latin American maid and ushered to a large bathroom where we changed. I guess I’d expected traditional yoga clothes, something like full body tights. What Michelle provided was far more provocative. The two spaghetti straps of the Kora Top tied around my neck, exposing my shoulders and upper back; its mid-drift cut flattered my waist. The bottoms were the size of a small bikini and form fitting.
I followed Michelle to a large room in which six women were waiting. They were all dressed in clothing like ours, practical yet sexy and revealing. The room was bathed in natural light and featured lush, soothing colors, expensive rugs and wall hangings, and cushions scattered against the walls. There was a faint smell of an intoxicating incense; comforting music played from invisible speakers.
Michelle had let everyone know she was bringing a guest; the women greeted me by name and with hugs. I recognized our mayor, a striking woman in her late 40’s with long straight black hair. I was also familiar with Diedre Jones, the executive assistant to our county chairperson. I had heard stories about people who underestimated her – although in her mid-thirties she still maintained the looks of the beauty queen she had been – and were quickly harpooned on her aggressive intellect. Finally there was Candace Janari. As a junior Candace had been selected to the Associated Press Second Team All-American basketball team. Expectations for her senior year were sky high. Her powerful athletic body was topped by a strong face and hair in corn rows. The other three woman, whom I’d get to know, were all trim, lovely, and leaders in our community.
Our yoga teacher appeared. She was Indian. Her tight body displayed her devotion to her craft. She had dark brown hair tied in a pony tail that approached her waist, light brown skin, deep decorous brown eyes, a strong nose, and stood a little over five feet tall. She introduced herself as Esha, which she explained meant “desire.” After ensuring that I’ been introduced to the class, she announced that, as tradition dictated when there was a new student, today would be devoted to Tantric yoga. That won murmurs of approval.
I may have been the worst pupil in the class, but I’m pretty flexible and did a yeoman’s job of keeping up. As we moved through the poses and lost ourselves in our breathing, I found myself becoming increasingly aroused. Unsuccessfully, I tried pushing the thoughts from my mind. I glanced around to see if anyone noticed my blushing, but all the woman were immersed in their own feelings, their faces masks of pleasure and, I thought, sexual desire.
“For our final two poses, please disrobe.”
That popped my eyes opened. Esha noticed. She assured me I did not need to do so if it made me uncomfortable, but when no one objected I joined in.
As we moved through the final two poses my arousal increased, but it was an arousal unlike any I’d experienced before. Traditionally it was hot guys, and Michelle, who turned me on, but this felt as if generated internally, like I was tapping into the core of my own sexuality, unleashing some innate sexual energy. I took a peek at the rest of room. I was not alone. Breasts were flushed with blood, nipples erect, and everyone’s face shone with lust. The scent of our arousal mingled with the incense, creating an erotic perfume.
After we completed the final pose, Esha led us in a short meditation and set of breathing exercises. My mind was crowded with carnal images. When finally, at her direction, I opened my eyes I saw the mayor, on all fours, crawling towards me. She tilted her head and brought her mouth to mine, our tongues coming together in slow sensual motion. I heard the excited utterances of the other women in the room as bodies moved against each other, mouths explored breasts, lips met lips, fingers found dripping cunts yearning for attention.
The mayor kept advancing and pushed me onto my back. She kissed my mouth, then my neck and ears, then down my body, pausing at my breasts. Her tongue explored my belly button and then moved down to the puddle of desire between my legs. The heads of two other woman, which briefly hovered above me, took my hard nipples and throbbing areolas into their mouths. Before my eyes drifted shut I saw Michelle on her back, legs spread, Candace on top; my god, her powerful muscular body was magnificent. She was grinding her cunt against Michelle’s sex, the look of lust on their faces and passion of their kisses making clear the effect.
My view was blocked when a soft pussy, featuring bright red hair, descended to my face. Drops of warm nectar plopped on my cheeks. I opened my mouth, tickling her clitoris with the tip of my tongue. My lust-befuddled mind recalled the red head, she was in her forties. She worked at the local hospital, our community’s largest employer.
I lazily licked her clitoris while she did most of the work, sliding her sex against my tongue, letting me know where she was most sensitive. That was good because what the mayor was doing between my legs rendered any complicated thought impossible. She expertly managed the arousal that had been fermenting within me for the last hour, not bringing me off, but driving me to a peak and then slowing, letting the waves of desire calm before pushing me up again. I was in a euphoric state; so many sensations crowded together that I was rendered incapable of distinguishing them. The mouths on my breasts, the pussy in my face, the tongue in my sex, they all merged. An orgasm fired off within me and, as I came back down, another, and, then as the lady above me exploded, drenching me with her juice, I was consumed by my final orgasm, a mind-expanding experience which lit up my brain and suffused every inch of my body.
I lay there several minutes. My fingers and toes tingled in delight. When I regained the ability to think, I saw Michelle and Candace leaning on two of the cushions sprinkled around the room, Candace’s strong arm over Michelle’s shoulder. The red head was lying next to me, half conscious and breathing heavily. Her arm lay across my chest. I kissed her sweet lips. She kissed me on the nose and we crawled over to Michelle and Candace. I snuggled in Michelle’s arms.
The maid, now wearing a robe, brought us a pot of warm tea, four china cups with saucers, and four finger vibrators. She removed her robe, displaying a solidly built, almost masculine, body, and joined Esha and the three other ladies in a daisy chain: five beautiful women eating five lovely cunts. The sound of their slurping complemented the soft sensual music that had played throughout our session. We came on the vibrators as the ladies came on the floor.
* * * *
After showering we gathered together to dry each others’ hair, put on make-up, and exchange local gossip. These ladies knew some high-level gossip. I, who would have been intimidated by any of them a few weeks ago, felt perfectly at home. It was a delightful time.
I got back into the car with Michelle about 5:00 P.M.
“Denise has downloaded the contact information for each of these ladies along with some background information into your phone and computer. These are private direct lines, not public numbers, and should be kept confidential. They will call on you for favors and expect you to do the same.”
I couldn’t understand what any of these woman could want from me and couldn’t imagine bothering them with my college student life. I told Michelle so.
“When the women you met today, and others you shall meet, ask each other for help, they are building relationships of mutual trust. We rely on each other. It is important that you participate. They understand you’re a college student. They also know you won’t always be one. They want you on their side. You’ll be surprised how useful we can be to each other. ”
With Michelle’s advice in mind I called the mayor on Monday. She picked up the phone, her caller id tipping her off to whom I was.
“Amber, so good of you to call. I enjoyed meeting you the other day.”
“The pleasure was mine. I hope this is not a bad time.”
“Not at all. I was meeting with my financial officer, but the matter is not pressing. He can wait a few minutes.” I heard the door close as he left the room. “What can I do for you?”
“My parents live on the 200 block of Dunwoodie. The street is deteriorating. I was wondering when it was due to be repaved.”
She buzzed one of her secretaries, asking him to call public works. We exchanged small talk until I heard the secretary’s voice in the background.
“It was scheduled eighteen months from now, but will happen this week. Amber, I think I know the house. What kind of shape is their driveway in?”
“It’s limestone rock. They’ve talked about getting it paved.”
“Well, if the crew misunderstands their instructions and accidentally paves it, please ask them to forgive the city, won’t you.”
“Yes Mayor, I will.”
Mom and Dad were very happy with the unexpected street work. They were going to let the city know about the mistaken paving of their driveway and offer to pay for it, but I explained it was better to let it go. They would not want to get the crew chief who made the error in trouble.
* * * *
I will not recount in detail all the events of the next few years. I rarely hit the college bars and when I did it was to gauge my skill at manipulating the patrons. When I needed a man as an escort, he was drawn from the successful young men in the Richards’ circle. Among my friends I became the alpha female, dominating them. I remained besotted with Michelle. She was lover, mentor, friend, guide, mother figure. From her I learned to control the world around me but as to her I had no control, there was nothing she might ask I wouldn’t do.
I switched majors from English to Business and became a straight “A” student. While I couldn’t reinvent my first two lackadaisical college years, anyone looking at my record would know a new me appeared before my junior year.
I will not relate all of my contributions to Richard & Richard during those years. If I may, I hope two stories will illustrate.
In October of my junior year I was given my first special assignment. Richard & Richard was handling a personal injury case. They estimated its settlement value at around $65,000.00. My job was to deliver a $110,000.00 proposal to the insurance company’s adjustor. My appointment was for 4:30 P.M. I was wearing a conservative mid-calf blue pin-stripped power suit, silk blouse, pearls, and leather gloves. All screamed expensive. The skirt featured a slit, but one that was not immediately obvious. When properly employed it would be perfect for displaying my legs.
I was ushered into his office. He introduced himself as Joseph Damask. I shook his hand with two of my own, holding the contact a bit longer than necessary. I laid my Barton Perreira sunglasses on his desk, handing him our settlement proposal. I crossed my legs, letting the slit move up to my knee, revealing the seam that ran up the back of my stockings, and dangling my four inch silver stilettos heels before him. Absentmindedly, I played with my pearls.
He offered me a bottled water. I asked for a glass. He poured the water into the glass for me. I took a drink and put the glass on his desk, running a well-manicured finger, featuring deep red nail polish, up and down it length. He struggled to make small talk. He wanted me there. He tried to charm the young lady and I smiled, laughed at his jokes, and pretended not to notice his eyes moving up and down my body.
Eventually, he picked up the settlement proposal.
“Mr. Damask.”
“Please, call me Joe.”
I stood up. “Okay, Joe. Do you mind if I close the blinds on your window? I’m having trouble seeing you through the glare.”
He was ready to pop up and do it himself, but I was already half-way to the window. I took my time, moving with graceful sensuality, giving him the chance to study my form and, when I reached the widow, my back to him, to stare. When done I looked directly at him, holding his eyes on mine. “That’s better, now I can see your handsome face.”
I returned to my chair, moving at the same deliberate pace. As he studied the settlement proposal I re-applied my lipstick and crossed my legs, letting the slit crawl further up my leg.
Finally he said, “Your number seems a bit high.”
“Really Mr. Damask, why do you think so?”
He would not waste the opportunity to show off for the pretty young lady.
“Let me show you something, Amber.”
By this time the offices were empty. He turned to his computer. I walked slowly around his desk and, in order to get a better view, leaned forward, placing my hand on his shoulder for balance. When I closed my hand I ran my fingers across his skin. I heard his sharp intake of breath; my movement had been casual but effective. The smell of my perfume hung in the air.
He directed my attention to the screen. As numbers flashed by he explained, “The company compiles data from all over the country on the severity of injuries. When I code your client’s injuries, I get a much smaller number.” He continued to explain the system.
I bent forward to get a better view of the screen, balancing myself by placing an open hand on his knee. He pretended not to notice.
When he was done I leaned over his desk to pick up the Richards’ proposal. He struggled to surreptitiously view my breasts, but they were well hidden by my jacket and silk blouse.
I returned to my chair and crossed my legs while reviewing the settlement offer. I noted several instances where, if he coded the injuries slightly differently, the Richards’ offer was fair. I smiled, “But I guess you know your job.” I pointed to a picture of a stout middle-aged woman on the counter behind him. “Is that your wife?”
It took him a second to re-focus and answer. “Yes.”
“How long have you been married?”
“Thirty-seven years.”
I stood up. “Do you mind?”
Not waiting for an answer, I walked around his desk, again placed my hand on his shoulder, and picked up the picture. I leaned on his desk, my leg emerging from the slit.
“A young girl like me, I’m always looking for the next exciting thing to do. It must be nice to know exactly what you’ve got. Do you have any daughters, Joey?”
“Yes, a little older than you.”
“Do you look at them and their friends the same way you’ve been looking at me?”
He stammered, a look of guilt flashing across his face. “What do you mean?”
Despite his words, his eyes were locked on my leg; his thickening penis was evident. I sat on his desk and ran my stiletto’s heel along his thigh. “Oh Joey, you don’t have to lie to me. You know exactly what I’m talking about, but don’t worry, I’m not mad.”
He stared, unsure of what to say or do.
Holding the picture of his wife, my heel within an inch of his erect penis, I added. “After thirty-seven years does she take good care of that thing or does it get pedestrian?”
He was flustered, but hooked, completely utterly hooked. “I, well, I guess, I mean she’s not as interested as she used to be.”
My voice low and gentle, in my most coquettish tone, I said, “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve got kind of a Daddy thing. So if you promise not to tell anyone and not to touch me so you can say you didn’t cheat, I’ll give you a hand.”
His face was flush and he was swallowing furiously, but he managed to squeak out, “I promise.”
“Sit on your desk, Joey.” When he complied I undid his belt and unzipped his pants, clearing his penis. Slowly, carefully, I removed my gloves, laid them on his desk, and retrieved sanitizer from my purse. I took him in my hand. His dick was unremarkable although I suspect it hadn’t been this hard in sometime.
“Ohh, Joey, I’ve been rude, I didn’t ask. Do you mind if I call you Joey?”
“No.”
“So nice and big, I would think your wife would want to play with it all the time.”
I started to jerk him off, but slowly. We did not want a premature orgasm.
“It’s so hard. Your wife must love this thing. You were being modest, weren’t you, I bet you guys do it all the time.”
I massaged a drop of pre-cum into the head of his penis and licked my lips.
“And god Joey, so much jism. Does your wife use her mouth on you? Does she swallow? Do you cum on her face? I bet you spray like a fire hose.”
His response was a low deep moan.
I ran one hand up and down his cock, playing with his balls with the other. He groaned, lost in the sensations. I had no doubt that the images running through his mind were not, despite my suggestion, he and his wife. Reminding him of his wife, however, had its advantages: it delayed his orgasm and laid on the guilt. It would make him more malleable. He would also crave, do anything, for my return visit.
“Jeez, Joey, you got balls like a stud bull. I bet you can do it three or four times a night. Your wife must stay very happy.”
“Ohh, ohhh. Ohhhhhh…”
“Do you like it Joey, do you want me to continue?”
“Oh, yes…oh, yes…ohhhh, it’s so…so good!”
“Do you like my breasts Joey? You were staring at them earlier. Do you want to see them?”
Amidst his panting he managed a whispered, “Yes.”
“You need to ask nicely, say please Ms. Church, please let me see your beautiful breasts. I don’t show them to just anyone.”
“Please Ms. Church, please let me see your beautiful breasts.”
“You are such a bad little boy Joey.”
“Oh yes Ms. Church, I’m a bad little boy who wants to see your big beautiful breasts. Please Ms. Church, please show them to me.”
I let go of his cock, eliciting a sharp inhalation of confused, frustrated, breath. I undid the top two buttons of my blouse and released the front clasp of my bra, exposing abundant cleavage but leaving my nipples hidden. He reached for them. I slapped his hand.
“Remember the rules Joey, no touching.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Church.”
“Should I stop?”
“No Miss Church, please don’t. I’ll be good.”
“Promise?”
“Yes Miss Church, I promise. I’ll be good.”
“Double promise?”
“Yes Miss Church, I double promise.”
I took him back in my hand. There was no longer a reason to delay. I started using long strokes.
“Do you like this Joey?”
“Oh yes, oh yes, Miss Church.”
“Am I as good as your wife?”
“Better, much better.”
His cock grew harder. He stared at my breasts licking his lips, whimpering. Then he jerked and I felt the cum start up his penis. As it spilled out of the top and spread over my hand, his butt shook the desk, the sound echoing in the empty office. He yelped. “Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh… I’mmmmmmm… cummmmmmmingg!”
After he was done I took some Kleenex from my purse, wiping his cum from my hand. I left the pack on the desk. “Clean yourself up Joey.”
At my request he pointed me to the ladies room. I returned ten minutes later, hands washed, blouse buttoned, hair and make-up perfect. After applying lotion, I put my gloves back on. His fly remained open, his limp dick exposed. There was cum on his pants. His mind was immersed in the last few minutes.
My voice was calm, professional, and assumed compliance. “Joey, I asked you to clean up.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Church.” He eagerly, hurriedly, sloppily wiped up his jism. His wife would be suspicious if she checked his clothes, but I doubt she did.
I looked at my watch. “Good, I have time to make my next appointment.”
I handed him some wipes to clean himself and then his hand. “It was nice to meet you Mr. Damask. I hope you’ll reconsider our offer. I look forward to doing business with you in the future. I believe I can let myself out. And remember,” bringing a finger to my lips, “this is our little secret.”
He was flustered, having trouble focusing. His mind was still on my hand flashing up and down his cock. “Yes, Miss Church.”
There was a faxed acceptance of our offer upon my return to the office. Ron and Michelle handed me a glass of champagne and my next pay check featured a very generous bonus. Within a few months most of the city’s major adjustors were asking that I personally deliver settlement proposals.
* * * *
It was a lovely Friday afternoon. Ron and Michelle had closed the office early. Denise and I were sitting with them by their pool, enjoying Ron’s killer drinks. Six days before a bus owned by a nearby casino had flipped over in a single vehicle accident. The driver was drunk. Six women, all friends, were in the bus. Five were still hospitalized. Ron and Michelle had met with the sole passenger discharged by the hospital and the husbands of the five still there.
Ron explained. “It’s down to us and one of the big downtown firms for the representation. Our record of success got their attention, but the downtown firm made some points by arguing it has superior resources and an unlimited staff.”
“I told them we don’t need fifty mediocre staffers when we have the two great ones and offered them the opportunity to meet you two,” Michelle added. “They discussed it among themselves and agreed. The meeting is set for Monday evening in their hometown at a local hospital in which Willie owns an interest.”
“They’re right up your alley, Denise,” Ron said. “Five red necks with middle-aged wives.”
Denise smiled. “Only five, you couldn’t make it a challenge?”
Michelle turned to me. “You should focus on the woman. Her name is Jean. She’s not well-educated, but she smart, real smart, and clearly the group’s leader. I got an unexpected vibe from her; she was attracted to me, but there was no come on. It was more like that she was trying to understand her own feelings.
“She and I only had a few minutes to chat one-on-one. She lives on a horse farm with her husband. She’s thirty-three, he’s twelve years older. Jean came to work on the farm in her late teens. At the time he was married; they had a girl – she’s named Olivia. After the first wife died in an automobile accident Jean became a substitute mother to Olivia. They rode together, hung out all the time, the kid adored her. Eventually the Dad asked Jean to marry him, but the way she talked about it, it’s not a love match. I suspect he was looking for a mother for Olivia and for Jean marriage promised a comfortable secure life.
“Jean’s crazy about the kid. She showed me some pictures. A lovely girl, long straight blonde hair, a friendly upbeat face, sort of a hippie sensibility. Olivia has just gotten back from her first year of college and there’s been some kind of falling out with her father. Jean was reluctant to talk about it and I didn’t have the time to draw the details out, but whatever it is, it’s eating Jean up. Something important is going on. Get her alone and find out what it is.”
On Monday evening Denise was ready for action, sporting tight jeans, cowboy boots and hat, and a tee shirt that did nothing to hide her charms. The guys were transfixed; this was the kind of wild woman they dreamed about. I was slightly older that Jean’s step daughter, but dressed to reflect the same hippie feel.
The first forty-five minutes were devoted to the firm’s ability to support litigation. We displayed our mastery of the most complex and powerful litigation-support software, employing concrete examples of how we had used it to help build the firm’s record of success. After the presentation we entertained twenty minutes of questions.
Denise, in her usual exuberant manner, announced that if we were going to be working together, we should find out how well we get along. The guys gravitated towards her. I caught Jean’s eye and headed to the door. She followed.
There was no question that Jean spent her life outdoors. Her brown hair was practical, parted down the middle, and hung to her ears. Her complexion was ruddy – she spent a lot of time in the sun. There was no fat on her, but she was not built to walk down a model’s runway, she was built to ride and rope a horse. Her face was open and honest and featured penetrating blue eyes.
We had left the room when Jean said, “You’re about the same age as my step-daughter. You remind me of her.”
“How is that?”
“She’s smart and pretty, less serious than you. She’s confident, like you. You made quite a presentation in there.”
“Thank you. I’ve learned a lot working for Ron and Michelle. Michelle said you mentioned some problems with your step-daughter.”
“Yes. It would be nice to talk to someone her age. Do you mind? Can you keep a confidence?”
“Yes, and I don’t mind at all.”
She looked me straight in the eye, evaluating me. She decided to proceed.
“Thank you. I went to work for her father when she was five. She was a wonderful child. After her mother passed she became my daughter in every meaningful way. I had no problems with her as a teenager, she had the nicest friends, dated some sweet boys, and was an outstanding student. She grew into a beautiful young woman.”
She shared some pictures with me.
“She is lovely. Michelle had told me how pretty she is.”
“That was kind of her.
“Olivia has just finished her first year of college and returned home to work for a local veterinarian. My husband, her father, was snooping and found some text messages on her phone from her freshman roommate. Well, long story short, they’d been lovers and had just broken up after a big fight. Her roommate was cheating on her. Her father was furious and ordered her to move out. She is living with a friend. He wants me to terminate my contact with her, but I don’t want to. I’m not sure where my loyalties lie.”
Here she stopped. Ron and Michelle had taught me to recognize when I was getting only part of the story. I chose an oblique approach.
“Sometimes people come to the office asking for advice. But what they really want to hear is that they’re not in trouble, so they tell us only half the story, the part in which they did nothing wrong. So they get advice they want, but its useless since they left out the important stuff. There’s something you’re not telling me; tell me the whole story.”
She thought for a second, took a deep breath, and started afresh. “I snooped too. After my husband told me what he found I started going through Olivia’s texts and e-mails. The ones from the start of the affair were startling. The initial passion for her roommate, it enthralled me, but it also bothered me. I guess I had always believed that no one would ever be closer to Olivia than I. Reading about how she burned for her roommate, it freaked me out.”
“Were you jealous?”
I had asked the right question. After a moment’s hesitation she said, her voice certain, “Yes.”
“Tell me about it.”
“When I realized that Olivia was gay, or at least had dallied there, I thought about her in a new way. And when I did, I wanted to be the roommate, except,” a gentle smile flickered on her face, “I would never mistreat her.”
The ache, the passion in her voice, was intense. I stopped and turned towards her, taking her hand in mine.
“I know this is beyond my station, but it sounds like you’re in love with Olivia.”
Jean looked down and then back into my eyes. She said, haltingly, “Yes, I think I am. And when I think about it, I think I’ve always been in love with her.”
The look of relief on her face was palpable. She had finally said the words.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Have you told her?”
“No. I don’t know how.”
“Jean, what does she need right now.”
She was quiet, but she knew the answer. “Right now, after the big fight with her father, she needs someone to hold her, let her know she’s loved, that someone cherishes her. She needs someone who will listen to her. I’m not sure how to do it.”
“Actually, I expect you do. Haven’t you always done that for her.”
I had guided us to a two office suite. The outer office featured several large comfortable couches. The inner office overlooked the conference room. Using the key Willie provided, I opened the door, led her to one of the couches, and turned on only one light. I wanted the room dark, intimate.
“Why don’t you and I practice, we can role-play. I’ll be Olivia. Tell me about what you learned from the texts you read.”
Jean succinctly, intelligently, told me the story.
When she was done I said, “Okay, I understand. Please call me Olivia. What does she call you when she’s upset.”
“Usually she calls me Jean. When she is upset, sometimes, she calls me Mommy.”
I leaned into her body, wrapping her arms around me.
“I’m glad you called Mommy. Is Daddy still mad?”
“Yes sweetie. He loves you, but he’s having trouble with the news.”
“How about you, are you mad?”
“No baby, not mad. I have to admit, I was surprised. I guess shocked would be a better word. I never suspected. Sexual identity seems so much more fluid with your generation.”
“You’re not that much older than me. Do you really feel like the generations are that different? That your generation didn’t have these same kind of feelings?”
“I’ve thought about that. Sometimes I wonder, maybe we were just better at suppressing them.”
“So why did your come see me when Daddy won’t? Does he know your here.”
“I can answer that, but I’ll need to ask your forgiveness in advance. I’m not much better than your father. I also invaded your privacy. Your father printed out the texts between you and Shawana. There was an early one, one that you wrote. I noticed the first line, it was so full of passion. I was transfixed. I read it, I read it about a dozen times and then read some more before I could convince myself to stop.”
“That was the glory and problem of what happened between us Mama. I’m attracted to
women and men. I guess there’s no harm in telling you that now. I experimented with a few female friends in high school. But when I met Shawana it was like, well I’d like to say love, but maybe it was really just lust at first site. She had a lot more experience with women than I; she instantly recognized my desire for her. She had to loosen me up, but that was no problem, the beer flows pretty freely the first night on campus. She got a few in me, took me back to the room, and we tore each other’s clothes off.
“The problem was that for her, I think, it was all about the sex and the fact that I adored her. She cheated on me constantly and liked showing me up in public, flirting with other girls and boys right in front of me. She was never there for me when I needed her. She’d never do what you’ve always done for me, what you are doing for me right now, holding me when I’m blue.”
“I love you, Olivia.”
I smiled at Jean, my eyes were grateful.
“If Dad knew you were here, what would he do?”
“Probably throw me out of the house right after you. Was Shawana pretty?”
“Yes, but not realy my type. She was flamboyant, big hair, tight clothes, lots of curves, expensive jewelry, always calling attention to herself. I got sick of it after awhile. She always had to be the center of attention. She is kinda the opposite of you. You’re so beautiful, but you never make a big deal about it.”
“You really think I’m beautiful baby?”
“Yes, Mama.”
I kissed Jean’s lip. It was not a child’s kiss. Jean was confused, not sure how to respond. What was it? Fear, nerves, suppressed lust? I sat up; it was time to take control.
“I’m sorry Mama. I went too far.”
“No, no, its okay.” She paused, calming her nerves, and began again. “In your e-mails, when you told Shawana how you longed to kiss her, you were so ardent. The truth is, I think it made me jealous. It would be nice for someone to want to kiss me that much.”
I leaned in again, this time finding her mouth slightly parted. When I ran my tongue along her lips, they quivered. She moaned.
I snuggled into her arms, kissed her ear, nibbled its lobe, and explored its recesses before whispering, “Do you think I’m pretty, Mommy.”
“Oh yes Olivia, you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”
When I returned to her mouth it was open and welcoming. I grazed her lips before slipping my tongue inside. I caressed her tongue. It was still unsure, not retreating, not responding. I played my lips against hers and it was soon clear the heat had started building. I stroked her sinewy arm.
“Mama, your body, it’s so strong.” I ran the flat of my hands down her torso. Her shoulders were nicely muscled, her small breasts firm, her stomach taut. My touch both calmed and excited her. I kissed her again, but now her tongue moved against mine. I placed her hand on my thigh.
“I want you to touch me.”
She squeezed my thigh. Her hands were strong but knowing, something I should have foreseen in a woman who spent her life managing horses.
I kissed her again. This time her tongue responded, sliding and twisting against mine. For several happy minutes we made out and then I knew it was time. I unbuttoned my blouse, exposing my breasts. “Mama, please,” then looking down at my breasts, as if too shy to say the word, “kiss me there.”
Jean was flushed, but unsure.
“Amber, I mean Olivia, I’ve never done this before, I’m not sure I know how.”
I placed one of her hands on my left breast. She squeezed, sending visible chills through my body.
“Jean, your hands are divine, you know just how to touch me. Don’t worry, I’ll show you some now. Olivia will show you the rest later. Right now my nipples are aching with need. Please take them in your mouth. Suck then. Lick them. Imagine they’re Olivia’s. Think of how long you’ve wanted to taste her, to taste them. Go ahead, you’ll know how.”
I guided her head to my breasts. Her tongue peeped from between her lips and then, slowly, her mouth opened and enveloped the thick dark areola of my left breast, sucking it while lightly running her tongue over it. It trembled in response, encouraging her; she continued licking, but softly. I wanted more.
My voice was husky, “You can do it harder than that, she won’t break.”
The pressure of her tongue increased.
One of Michelle’s rules is that woman like us accept pleasure as a birthright, we don’t scream, yell, and moan. However, tonight would be an exception; Jean needed the encouragement. I moaned softly and said, “Ohhhhhhhh! Don’t stop! Just keep doing that! Exactly that! It feels so good!”
Jean, emboldened, became more aggressive, taking my breasts in her strong calloused hands, switching from one to the other. The years of hiding herself were falling away. It was time for me to take advantage. I pulled my breast from her mouth, kissed her gently and sweetly, and in a voice full of girlish need said, “Mama, I want you so much, please eat my pussy, please eat Olivia’s pussy, Olivia’s pussy is hot, Olivia’s pussy needs your mouth.”
I stood, undid my Indian print skirt and panties, letting them fall to the floor. Jean followed them down. I captured her head in my hands and brought it between my thighs. She was still unsure.
“My vagina, please Mama use your lips and tongue on me, explore me, all my curves and recesses, my intimacies, my smells, my tastes…., please Mama!”
At first hesitantly, then with more vigor, Jean licked my vaginal lips, slipped her tongue inside me, kissed my sex. As she had been with my breasts, she was gentle, almost afraid she might hurt me.
“That feels so good, but do it harder. Oh Mama, if a woman can handle a man’s erection, she can handle whatever your sexy sweet intelligent mouth can deliver.”
Jean picked up the pace and pressure. I held her head, directing her to where I needed attention, encouraging her with lusty low hard moans.
Jean was a natural. There was a prodigious flow from my sex as the pleasure of her mouth seeped through my body. “Oh Mama, you make me feel so good, drink my sweet juice, eat me, oh yes Mama, Mama.”
Jean continued to work me with her mouth, her confidence growing in step with my burgeoning excitement. It was time to raise the stakes. “Do you love me, Mama?”
Jean pulled her mouth from my steaming pussy just long enough to say, “Oh, Olivia, I do, I do, I’ve always loved you.”
I kept in character. “I love you too Mommy, lick my clittie, suck my clittie.”
Although far from an experienced lover, Jean had become emboldened. She moved her mouth to my clit, sucked it into her mouth, and lashed it with her tongue. There was none of the hesitation she had shown earlier; she slashed my clit with strong powerful strokes.
I had not forgotten her powerful hands and fingers.
“Please put your fingers inside me.”
Two, then three fingers entered and once inside, explored me. Her expertise momentarily baffled me, and then I realized that she must have done this to herself hundreds of time and almost obsessively over the last few days as she struggled with her now incarnate lust for her stepdaughter; she must of have done it until she was sore.
Tingly sensations were running up my spine and down to my toes. When Jean’s strong fingers found my g-spot my vagina flooded with an intense warm sensation. I was a time bomb ready to explode, ticking to a climax. I arched my back, and then….
“Ohhhhh Myyyyy Goddddd…Ohhhhh Myyyyy Goddddd…Ohhhhh Myyyyy Goddddd…..”
Jean sucked my clit into her mouth and slapped it with her tongue. I felt it; steamy sexual heat and lusty desire spilled throughout my body, running helter skelter to my brain and then exploded in a glorious fireworks display in my mind. I grunted and bucked under the relentless attack of her mouth and fingers, grabbing her head, pulling her into me.
“I’m cumming…yesssss…Ohhh Myyyy Goddd……cummminnnnngggg…, ahhhhhhhhhh….”
The bomb exploded and took control of my entire body. My vagina was sun gone supernova. Blinding flashes of light filled my mind. It was wonderful; I made sure Jean knew it.
“Ahhhh…Ohhhhh…Oh fuck…yesssss…ahhhhhhh….”
I held her head, keeping her mouth pressed against my box until the orgasms played themselves out. Laying back, short of breath, I half-asked, half-motioned, her to join me on the couch. I unbuckled her belt and scooted her jeans past her waist. I kissed her once gently, enjoying my taste on her lips while my hand slid down her body to her pussy. I applied pressure to the area around her clitoris with my thumb while my pinkie and ring finger played with the opening to her vagina, occasionally dipping within. I imagined her as a musical instrument; I would test and gauge her reactions, master her body, become a virtuoso.
I whispered to her, my voice low, not so no one could overhear us – we were alone – but to emphasize the intimacy of the moment. “I could eat your sweet pussy just like you ate mine, but you want the first mouth down there to be Olivia’s, don’t you. I want you to imagine her sweet face buried between your thighs, look down now, do you see her long golden hair?”
As Jean did her eyes glazed with lust.
“Yes, uh, uh, uh, unh, unh….”
“She’s yours now. It’s always been her. She was always her father’s biggest attraction. You’ve loved her as long as you can remember. Now you can finally have her. It will be the warmth of her body you will feel against you at night, the joy of her smile that will greet you in the morning, and when you wake in the middle of the night, the gentle sound of her breathing that will lull you back to sleep.”
“Ahhhh…Ohhhhh…yessss……..Oh, yessssss…ahhhhhhh…”
“The rest of your life with her, taking care of her, absorbed in her happy face, her soft skin, and the gentle firmness of her breasts, listening to her whisper your name as you make love, burying your face in her hair and wallowing in her aroma, the taste of her skin, her mouth, her vagina.”
“Ohhhhh Myyyyy Goddddd…”
“It’s time to take her, make her your own. Don’t hide from what you are, don’t run from love, Olivia and you must be together. Tell her how you feel.”
“I love you Olivia, I’ve always loved you. Ohmigod, I’m cumming, …..yesssss…, oh god yes, ahhhhhhhh…………..”
The hot cum poured from her thrashing body in wave after wave of excruciating delight. I kept diddling her clit and another orgasm followed the first, almost strangling her with pleasure. Jean shook in my arms. I held her and she affirmed what we both knew was true. “Oh Amber, I do love her. I love her so. Do you think she loves me, could she love me?”
I gave the advice Michelle would have given.
“You need to take from life what you want, not settle for what the world gives you. You’ll never learn the answer until you ask. But ask like you expect to be accepted, not tentatively or with a question in your voice. It will be a big step for her, you’ll need to make it easier, you need to lead the way.”
As Jean drifted off to sleep – her consciousness drained by her orgasms – I interspersed Michelle’s wisdom on how to get what you want with a pep talk to build her confidence. After she dozed off I kissed her forehead, Michelle was right, this was a special woman.
I went to the adjoining room, the one with the window overlooking the conference room. Denise was on a table on her back, her long brown hair spread wildly, naked except for her boots. How had she managed to keep her boots on? Denise’s hands were wrapped around the cocks of two men on either side of the table. A third man was standing between her legs, fucking her hard. Her massive tits jiggled in time with his thrusts. Two other men were sitting on the floor, their spent looks confirming that Denise had had her way with them; it would be awhile before their dicks worked again.
The face of the man fucking her suddenly flushed. He flopped forward. Denise placed a boot on his chest, pushing him away and he staggered back, slinking to join his fellows on the floor. Denise directed the man to her right between her legs and slid to her left and took the remaining penis in her mouth. She soon had the two men thrusting in rhythm and, maestro that she was, managed to time her orgasm to theirs, all three exploding within a beat of the others. The soundproofing was effective, but still I could hear them screaming.
* * * *
An hour later Denise and I were heading home with six signed retainer agreements. It was late and the highway all but deserted. Denise was fidgety.
“There was a time when fucking five rednecks in an evening left me fulfilled. I don’t know whether it was them or me, but I’m still rarin’ to go.”
My need, which had been temporarily sated by Jean’s mouth, had been reignited when I watched Denise in the conference room.
“Do you still keep that big blanket in your truck?” I asked.
“Sure do, and I washed it yesterday.”
“And do you know any spot where you and might be find some privacy along this stretch of road?”
“Honey, I know ’em all,” and she headed down an exit, turning onto a dirt road about a mile from the interstate and pulling into a little clearing. There we unfurled the thick blanket and made love under the stars. I figured Michelle and Ron would forgive us if we were late for work the next day.
* * * *
Two days later I received a text from Jean: “Olivia and I are together. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Two months later Ron won a major verdict in another case against the casino’s insurer, leading to a quick profitable settlement of Jean and her fellows’ claim. Jean had more than enough money to finance Olivia’s return to school and they moved in together. Olivia eventually got her veterinarian’s degree and she and Jean remain together, running a profitable horse ranch.
From the firm’s fee, Denise was given the motor home she had long wanted As for me, a trust fund was established that would pay for my final year of college and graduate school.