Message-ID: <26895asstr$971759407@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: MelLin6695@aol.com
X-Original-Message-ID: <30.b799424.271d0ae6@aol.com>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="UTF-8"
Content-Language: en
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit
X-MIME-Autoconverted: from quoted-printable to 8bit by sara.asstr-mirror.org id VAA15223
Subject: {ASSM} New TG from Waldo - Marlowe - Part 5 of 9
Date: Tue, 17 Oct 2000 01:10:07 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2000/26895>
X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Moderator-ID: newsman, gill-bates
******
Richard was so demanding that night that I felt as if I put a callous
on my right hand. But I felt a hell of a lot better. Prior to taking
care of Richard myself, I tried to find a substitute. Hell, I was
needing a woman so badly that I even called my ex and suggested
that we spend a couple of minutes talking about old times. That's
how much I needed a woman.
Well, Richard had to settle for my right hand.
As for work, when I got back to my office, there was a nice throaty
message on my answering machine. No name but I recognized the
voice. "Baby, you really know how to make me feel like a woman
again. I haven't had too much of a love life since Greg left and you
caused me to feel something good and very strong again. I was
thinking so hard about you while I took my bath that I was an
hour late meeting my friends as I --.. found --.. ways --. to --..
entertain --.. myself. Look, we need -- --. to spend a little time
together -- --getting to know each other in a social situation so that
I can decide if I should ever let you put any more lotion on my
back. I've got a formal cocktail party that I'm going to have to
attend tomorrow evening. It will be just a bunch of my boring
friends who will spend most of the evening talking about their
various stock options or about a vacation that they just completed.
I've called a tailor and told him to put you in a nice black tie suit at
my expense. Why don't you plan on joining me at Cavendish
Country Club at seven tomorrow evening?"
Chapter 3 - Having a beer with the boss
I've never owned a suit that cost more than one hundred and thirty
dollars. I've never owned more than two suits at one time in my
total life. I walked out of that tailor's shop carrying a custom made
black tie suit that cost my new boss about eight hundred dollars. I
tried to pick a suit that was in the three hundred dollar range but
the tailor said that he had very explicit instructions that I was to
have a very good suit.
Of course he had problems when I insisted that I had to have
someplace to carry my pistol. So he made a small modification so
that I could carry it hidden in the small of my back where it didn't
show.
As I sat in my office passing time until the magic moment when I
could go see her, I remember when I was a kid and wanted
summer to arrive so that I could be out of school. That's how I felt
as I watched the clock drag slowly on while I waited for seven
o'clock.
I used the time effectively. I closed out some dead-ends to some of
my searches and initiated other searches. I discovered that two
days after arriving in Spain, Greg flew to Greece, then flew to
Tokoyo. Three weeks later, he was in Mexico. That's where I lost
his trail. I suspected that he worked his way to the border and
crossed back into the states but I couldn't prove that yet. Nor
could I prove where he went from there.
I also had a long discussion with some of the people owning the
web sites where I found Greg's photographs. They didn't want to
talk but when I hinted that I might have to drag them into court
cases if they didn't assist me, they told me what they knew about
him. Going back through their old records, they told me that he
had submitted the photographs using the name "Darci Taborski".
Otherwise they knew nothing about him or his present location.
So I added Darci Taborski ot my list of Monica Taborski and Greg
Browning as names to investigate. I found where a Darci Taborski
rented a car in Mexico City about the time that Greg was in the
vicinity. But how did he get official identification with that name
and manage to look like a "Darci" to convince someone to rent him
a car with a woman's name on it? And where did Darci go from
there?
My ex-wife called me back and said that she wanted to reconsider
my offer to talk about getting together again. Looking up at the
clock and seeing that I was going to meet Tanya in only two hours,
I also factored into my reply to my ex that my original offer was
made when I was experiencing serious physical difficulties after my
poolside meeting with Tanya. I told my ex to "go get fucked" and
hung up on the bitch. I didn't need her now.
*****
It was awkward getting into the Country Club. When I pulled up
in my twelve-year-old rusted-out car, the gatekeeper tried to turn
me away. But when I told him that I was meeting Mrs. Browning
and he saw my fancy Black Tie, he let me in, but suggested that I
use the parking lot at the back of the building.
Walking into the Club, I felt like James Bond walking into a casino.
Fancy Black Tie suit, pistol tucked into my belt and surrounded by
luscious expensive chicks wearing fancy cocktail dresses. If this
was how the rich lived, then I had to become rich somehow.
I saw her talking to some man whose face looked familiar. I knew
that I had seen him in movies before but I couldn't think of his
name.
She was wearing a simple ankle-length strapless black cocktail
dress with a long slit up one leg. But with her long legs, slender
arms, long blonde hair, deep tanned skin, and exposed upper
chest, she looked like a vision of total loveliness. When she saw me
standing patiently, she signaled me to come join them.
Holding out her hand to greet me, she pulled me to her side in one
smooth move that culminated with me standing beside her with
my arm around her waist as if she wanted to establish that she
had a personal relationship with me. Then she introduced me to
the man whose face was familiar but I couldn't place his name.
"Brad, I want you to meet Darrel Marlowe. He owns a large
security consultant firm that I'm thinking about investing some
more money in as part of my stock portfolio. Darrel, this is Brad
Pitts."
I've seen a lot of movie stars. But usually it was when I was
working security at some concert. To be standing in a fancy
country club wearing a black tie suit with my arm around that
luscious babe and talking to Brad Pitts was unreal.
After a few minutes of polite discussion, Tanya and I adjourned
toward the bar. As soon as we were out of hearing range of Brad, I
laughed at her audacity to declare my small one-man almost-broke
business as a "large security consultant firm". "You lied to Brad
Pitts. What am I going to say if he ever calls me up and wants to
see my company revenues?"
"Just tell him the truth. That you are a privately owned company
and that you have a limited number of investors and no room for
anyone else at this time. But he probably won't call you. At these
sorts of gatherings, you meet all sorts of people. He'll think that
you're just someone else trying to fuck me and leave it at that.
Why don't you order me a wine?"
Standing beside her at the bar, I started to pull out my billfold to
buy us a drink when she grabbed my hand, stopping me. "No, our
host is picking up the bill for all drinks. When you get ready to
leave for the evening, just tip the bartender twenty bucks and
everyone will be happy."
Following her advice, I ordered her a wine and a glass of whisky for
myself. Sipping my drink I stared at her pretty face and saw that
same Mona Lisa type of mysterious smile that I was frequently
seeing on her face. "Penny for your thoughts?"
Her low and throaty giggle was enough to make Richard glad that I
asked the tailor to make sure that I had extra room in the groin
area. "Ummm, I was just thinking how great you look in that suit.
So muscular. So handsome. So virile. Wonder what our host
would do if we were to sneak behind the patio curtains and I was
to throw my leg around your hips and wrap my arms around your
neck for a little bit of hanky-panky. I'm not wearing any panties,
you know."
"Uhhhh, no, I didn't know. You look very pretty."
After making a quick glance around to see if anyone was looking,
she surprised me turning slightly so that her right hip was gently
touching my right leg. With her hand hidden by our bodies and the
bar behind her, she rubbed the palm of her hand against my groin
as she whispered a perverse thought that I had never considered
but was ready to try. "Ummm, no I didn't wear any panties tonight.
But I left them on my dresser. Afterwards if you were to take me
home and to show me what you look like wearing them, I would
consider picking up where we left off at yesterday."
Four images were roaring through my over-loaded brain. One was
the unimaginable delightful sensation of her soft hand rubbing my
very hard erection through the couple of layers of trousers. Two
was her verbal commitment to resume what we were doing
yesterday with the fingers and lotion and 'tant'. Three was the
concept that for me to slip into her panties, I had to be undressed
and in her bedroom. Four was that the warmth of her close body,
the teasing gleam within her sparkling green eyes and the
closeness of staring down her cleavage at her heaving breasts had
totally removed my ability to think of anything else.
It was hard to imagine that Greg Browning had run off and left this
wonderful piece of womanhood. An even worse concept was that I
was supposed to find him so that they could pick up where they
left off in their marriage and romance.
"Ummm, feels like a ten incher. I like them big. Greg had a big
one too. I like to feel big cocks inside me."
Her gentle palm rubbing against my erection had caused me to
lose my voice. Richard certainly wasn't a ten incher. But there was
no way that I was going to tell her the truth about my little buddy.
Let her find out for herself.
Looking around to see if anyone was looking at us, she waved with
her other hand and smiled at some friend across the room as she
whispered something that made my knees go weak. "I like to have
sex in public places. Do you think that we can slip into a janitor's
closet somewhere and fuck?"
Public Places? Janitor's closet? Fuck? If she only knew how close
she was to being thrown up on the bar and fucked in front of all
these movie stars, she would be very happy.
I felt her fingertips fumbling with my zipper and felt my back trying
to arch to give her more room. The sound of my zipper being pulled
down was almost as loud as the pounding in my ears. Then I felt
the softest and warmest hand introduce herself to Richard.
Richard, this is hand. Hand, this is Richard. Richard, behave
yourself. Richard, don't explode yet. Richard......
I had to grasp the bar and hold onto it because the room was
beginning to spin. All of the blood in my body was down in that
throbbing staff that she was tightly clinching. Staring into her
eyes, I sent her a signal to do whatever she wanted to do to me. I
didn't care if tomorrow's headlines read "Man jacked off in Country
Club bar" and showed my photograph. I preferred that headline
over the headline that I knew was going to occur if she didn't
relieve me. "Man's dick explodes in million pieces, killing Brad Pitt
and twenty socialites."
I didn't want to see my photograph on the front page of the
National Enquirer because of my exploding dick. I wanted relief.
Shutting my eyes and holding onto the bar to balance myself, I
concentrated on her warm soft hand wrapped around Richard.
Richard, you lucky devil.
Then I felt it. I was going to explode. Standing in a bar at the
Country Club, I was going to shoot a wad of cum into her hand. I
bit my lip to keep from screaming. Opening my eyes, I stared at her
smiling face and knew that she was aware of what was about to
happen. She gently shook her head to signal that she wanted me
to let it rip.
And I did.
If you look at the seismographs that monitor unusual underground
activities for Los Angles and see activity for that night, it wasn't an
earthquake. It was me. I transferred my total force into my
handhold on that bar. I was afraid that it was going to break off in
my hands or that I was going to do something stupid like scream
"YESSSSSS".
But somehow I stood almost perfectly still as I felt my warm body
fluids pumping into my expensive trousers and onto her soft hand.
When I got to where I could open my eyes again, I discovered that
my knees were so weak that I had to use the bar for support. I felt
her pull her hand out and zip up my trousers. Then she used her
cocktail napkin to clean most of my creamy-white cum from her
hand. When her hand was reasonably dry, she raised one finger to
her lips and held her still damp finger close to her face as she
smelled my scent on her hand.
With a deft quick flick of her tongue, she licked her finger causing
me to shudder again. "Ummm, you taste good. Have you ever
tasted a man's cum, Darrel?"
That was an easy question to answer. "No."
Holding her cum covered finger in front of my lips, she teasingly
gave me a command that I knew that I had to obey. "Try a taste of
your cum."
I opened my mouth to let her insert an inch of her finger into my
mouth. Closing my lips around her finger, I tasted a salty taste
which I knew was my cum. But more importantly, I knew that we
had just made a commitment to fuck each other until we were
totally exhausted. I didn't care that I was standing in the middle of
a country club bar with a woman's cum-covered finger stuck in my
mouth and my trousers full of warm wet cum. I only knew that I
had to have this woman and the sooner the better.
******
Ok, so I didn't fuck her afterwards.
But I tried.
Even Richard admitted that I tried.
I had recovered my balance so that I was able to stand normally
and most of the glazed look on my face was gone. We were
laughing and acting very normally when some female friend of
Tanya came over to talk to us. I was still facing the bar and trying
to hide the obviously wet spot in the middle of my crotch. Tanya
picked up her glass of wine and was moving it toward her lips
when the glass slipped from her hands and "horror of horrors", she
spilled the wine on my crotch.
Naturally she was apologetic and very vocal in blaming herself for
ruining my trousers in front of witnesses. A waiter escorted me out
of the room and into a small room where I removed my trousers
then waited while they cleaned my trousers.
Going back into the bar with dry and reasonably clean trousers, I
felt like a new man. Tanya was still with a group of her friends and
she introduced me to all of them. Then as a group, we went into
the main dining room where dinner was waiting.
Sitting beside Tanya at the dinner table, I tried to be Mister
Personality as she rubbed her ankle against my leg underneath the
tablecloth. And when she placed her hand in her lap but under
the cover of the tablecloth would make teasing quick rubs of my
crotch, I pretended to not notice and talked to her friends about
whatever stupid subject that we were discussing.
Then came one of the most disappointing moments of my life. One
of her friends, some famous actor's wife, decreed that all of the
women were going to a men's strip bar. I looked at Tanya with
pleading eyes, reminding her of her promises to me. She raised her
eyebrows as if to say "sorry" then started joking with her girlfriends
about how much fun it was to have a male stripper rubbing his
crotch in her face.
I knew that I wouldn't be going back to her place that night. I came
very close to following them to the strip bar and surprising them by
somehow becoming one of the dancers. They wouldn't have to pay
me for the opportunity to rub my crotch against Tanya's pretty
face.
I didn't know it then but I wouldn't see her for about four days.
******
I called her everyday but only got her answering machine. I even
drove out to her place but the guard wouldn't let me in, not even
when I showed him my badge. He told me that she was out of
town.
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations. |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+