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Date: Fri, 19 Aug 2005 11:09:50 +0000
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--- DECODED ATTACHMENT (callgirlcheerleaders#20.txt) ---
Ch. 20 Codes: Mf, teen, oral, exhib, public sex, rom
CHAPTER TWENTY
For the next week, though she teased and hinted and giggled about it,
Marianne refused to give me any clear idea about what she was planning for
the reunion. About all I could gather was that she was searching all over
town for the perfect dress to wear. But beyond that, all I could get out of
her was, "You'll see on Saturday night." She came over a few times that week
to fool around (bringing Hayley with her on Wednesday), but otherwise I was
occupied with work for another week.
The reunion committee had also organized a tailgate party at the school
football game that Friday, but I had no interest in spending the entire
weekend down there. I didn't really care to watch All Saints lose again
anyway, having seen it happen too many times when I was still a student.
We would be spending Saturday night at the hotel since the party would run
too late to come back that night. Marianne had worked out some cover story
with her parents to explain her absence. It felt like a bigger risk than was
necessary, but she insisted it would be safe.
On Saturday afternoon at about three o'clock, Marianne appeared at my door
with a dress bag in one hand and a little overnight bag in the other. She
gave me a quick kiss and went upstairs to get ready. She took a shower (I
was sorely tempted to climb in there with her, but it would have made us
late) then went out to the dressing area to primp herself. I showered myself
and shaved as Marianne did her hair and cosmetics, still naked except for a
towel.
"What did you tell your folks about tonight?"
"That I was spending the night at Ashley's."
"They never seem to question these charades."
She shrugged.
"I don't know about you," I said. "But I'm getting sick of this routine.
You said you wanted to tell your parents about us eventually. I think that
time is approaching."
She glanced at me briefly.
"I don't want to talk about that now."
"Okay. But think about it."
She finished with her hair and went out to the bedroom for her dress. I was
about half-dressed myself by then, but I stayed in the back to let her put it
on and surprise me.
She returned in a few minutes with a big grin on her face.
"What do you think?"
The dress--what there was of it--was made from some soft, clingy grey-blue
fabric (rayon or lycra, maybe, though I didn't know enough about clothes to
be sure). It began about mid-thigh, and over her midsection there was an
oval cut-out, exposing her belly ring. The neck was not particularly
low-cut, but the fabric was very loose over her body--bending over would be
dangerous tonight. The dress swept up over her shoulders and down her back.
"You like it?"
"Very hot."
She grinned.
"Wait until you see the rest of it."
She turned slowly, and I gasped. It was cut--that wasn't really the proper
word because there was nothing there to cut--*all* the way down. The
shoulder straps didn't come back together until they got below the small of
her back. The fabric was bunched up in soft waves at the bottom, and the
split of her pretty buttocks was just barely visible. She essentially had a
big sign on her back that said, "I have nothing on under this dress."
She completed the turn, smiling at me.
"Is this outrageous enough?"
I tried to catch my breath.
"You're going to give some of those men coronaries."
She giggled.
"No bra, either?" I asked.
"Nope. I was going to wear stick-ons, but this fabric is just too clingy.
You could see them through the dress and it looked awful. I'll be bouncing
around a lot tonight, but I don't care."
"Jesus."
I looked down at her, and I realized that each time she inhaled, the front of
her dress below the cutout opened enough to see right down into her crotch.
The kitten tat was easily visible if you looked for it, and with the right
lighting, you could probably see everything else, too.
Her eyes twinkled.
"Think this will do?"
I swallowed against my suddenly dry mouth.
"Yes."
"You don't know how long it took me to find this thing. But as soon as I saw
it, I knew it was the one."
I exhaled slowly.
"Let's go."
She completed her look for the night with a matching wrap and little purse
and high-heeled grey sandals. The wrap rendered her halfway decent for the
trip south, at least. We got to the hotel about ninety minutes later. The
valet took my Mercedes, and we went inside.
I stopped at the front desk briefly to check in and get the key to our room.
The bellboy took our bags, and we headed off to the party.
I didn't immediately see anyone I recognized, which was not surprising since
I had not seen any of these people in at least fifteen years, if not
twenty-five. Marianne had my arm, and I felt her squeezing it more tightly
as we crossed the lobby.
"Are you okay?"
She nodded quickly.
"I'll be all right. But none of these people are your friends, right? You
don't do business with them or anything?"
"No."
"So it doesn't matter what happens tonight? I'm just trying to get my
bearings."
"No, it doesn't. Just enjoy yourself."
She nodded again, straightening her back as we approached the ballroom. Up
ahead, I could see a table covered with nametags being manned by two women I
didn't recognize at all. About half a dozen guests milled around outside.
"Hi, good evening," one of the women said. Her nametag said "Phoebe
Collins," but I still didn't remember her.
"Hi. Steve Chandler."
"Well, hi, Steve."
Phoebe searched for my nametag and then handed it to me. Then she looked at
Marianne, and I watched her smile cracking slightly.
"Can I get you a nametag?"
"Sure. Marianne Mulcahey."
Phoebe filled out a nametag and handed it her. Her smile was entirely forced
by this point.
"Enjoy yourselves."
We walked into the ballroom, and I glanced at Marianne, who was fighting a
grin.
"It's going to be like that all night, isn't it?"
"Probably."
I surveyed the room, still not seeing anyone I recognized, but seeing a lot
of people doing double takes when they got a good look at Marianne. They had
a coat check room in one corner, where she surrendered the wrap. She gave me
a nervous grin.
"Here we go."
She took my arm again, squeezing it tightly. We made our way toward the bar,
and I tried not to pay too much attention to the numerous cases of male
whiplash Marianne was inducing as she passed. When we got to the bar, I
half-turned to look behind us, seeing at least three or four men staring
incredulously at Marianne's butt. Most of them had dates or spouses, and I
saw one woman subtly jab her husband in the ribs when she saw what he was
looking at. Then she gave me a dirty look and turned away.
I ordered a pair of drinks and led Marianne back into the crowd. After a few
sips of wine, she seemed to be calming down.
"How are we doing?" she asked.
"There are going to be a lot of men here with stiff necks tomorrow."
She giggled. I spotted someone I knew, a guy named Jim Pederson, whom I had
shared a bong-load or two with during my senior year. His hair had once been
as long as Marianne's but it was now clipped short and heavily receding. He
saw me a moment later and headed toward us.
"Holy shit! Steve!"
"Jim. How's it going?"
He shook my hand vigorously, and then took in Marianne. Though his eyes
widened slightly, he said nothing.
"This is Marianne."
She extended her hand, and he shook it.
"Nice to meet you."
Jim and I spent a few minutes catching up, during which I discovered that he
was now an Assistant United States Attorney in San Francisco ("Quite a change
from the old days, eh?" he asked, laughing). He gave Marianne some repeated
glances but otherwise behaved himself.
"So, um, what do you do, Marianne?" he finally asked.
"I'm still in school."
"What are you thinking of doing?"
"I haven't really made up my mind."
A heavyset man I didn't recognize came up to us, and only after reading his
nametag, did I realize who it was--Mike Taylor, who had been the quarterback
on the football team, though he was now several decades out of his playing
form. He glanced at me as he approached, but most of his attention was on
Marianne.
"Steve. How you doing?"
"Mike. Not bad."
He looked at Marianne, who gave him a flirty smile. A little tremor ran over
his face.
"This is Marianne."
He seemed to want to shake her hand, but she kept it at her side. I watched
his eyes going up and down, up and down, from her breasts to her face and
back again.
"What . . . uh . . ." he managed, "what are you up to these days, Steve?"
"I'm a stock trader. I live up the coast about two hours. What about you?"
"I'm an Assistant Sales Manager at a big Chevy dealership near the beach. I,
uh . . . " His eyes got stuck on Marianne's breasts again. "I've been there
a few years."
A brown-haired woman came up next to him, glancing at me, then Marianne, then
back at me with disbelief filling her eyes. She nudged Mike, and he started.
"Um, honey, this is Steve Chandler. We were friends back then."
That was a lie, but I was feeling magnanimous enough not to call him out on
it, especially as I watched the anger filling his wife's eyes. Like a nebula
being pulled into a black hole, Mike's attention was being drawn inexorably
back toward my girlfriend's chest. She gave his wife a sly look.
The poor woman stood it for only a second or two before pinching Mike's side.
He squirmed in her grip, but she refused to let go of him. Giving the two
of us a steely glare, she took Mike's arm in hers.
"Can we go sit down now, honey?"
He gave me a conflicted look as she dragged him off. I glanced at Jim, who
was fighting a grin. Marianne just smiled innocently.
We repeated that scene a few more times, mostly with men I had hardly
known--if at all--during high school. Though I hadn't said anything to
Marianne and didn't intend to, there was one person I really did not want to
see tonight, if she even remembered who I was or why I would care. Another
cheerleader in another, far less pleasant, life. I kept glancing around,
looking for her but not seeing her. After we had been there about an hour, I
let myself decide that she hadn't come.
More and more of the women I saw gave me nasty looks when our eyes met. I
had been looking for Mary Jo, but I didn't see her until we had been there
almost an hour. She stood with a tall, thin man with graying blonde hair.
She was a bit rounder than I remembered but still pretty.
She spotted me a minute later and came straight over.
"Steve!"
She gave me a big hug and then withdrew to check me out.
"Look at you! You haven't aged a bit."
Now she noticed Marianne, and I could see her eyes widening. Her smile
wavered for a moment.
"This is Marianne."
They shook hands, and I introduced Mary Jo.
"He's told me a lot about you," Marianne said, and that was sufficient to
disrupt Mary Jo's mild case of shock. She laughed.
"Oh, no. Well, I hope it was nothing indecent."
"It was all good."
Mary Jo's husband appeared at her side, and she introduced him. We made
casual small talk for a few minutes.
"So, how did you two meet?"
"I live just down the street from him," Marianne said. "So we've sort of
known each other a while."
Mary Jo tried to smile, but I could tell it was difficult.
"How long have you been going out?"
"Just a few months, really."
Mary Jo had always been on the shy side, and I could tell that this was as
far as she could bear to take the conversation. We spent some time talking
about what she had been up to, and about her two kids. Marianne went to the
ladies' room a few minutes later, and when she was out of earshot, I leaned
toward Mary Jo and lowered my voice.
"Do you know if Beth Dunbar is here tonight?"
A knowing look passed across her face.
"As far as I know, she's not here. She hasn't come to the last few. We've
lost track of her, to be honest. You don't really want to see her again, do
you?"
"No. That's why I'm asking."
She nodded, but said nothing else. When Marianne reappeared, we split up
with Mary Jo and her husband and headed back toward the bar.
"Are you enjoying this?" she asked me.
"Yes. You?"
"I'm fine. It's not as difficult as I thought it would be. I'm having fun."
"Good."
We got to the bar and ordered another round of drinks. After I paid the tab,
I leaned in to peck her on the cheek.
"I have to hit the bathroom myself. Will you survive on your own for a few
minutes?"
She grinned.
"I think I'll make it. Go."
I went toward the men's room to take a leak. When I was standing in front of
the urinal draining my bladder, Patrick Getzels, another guy I had barely
known, came up to use the one next to me.
"Steve."
"Pat. How's it been?"
"Not bad. That, uh, that girl with you . . . "
"Marianne."
"Your girlfriend?"
"Yep."
"How old is she?"
I grinned and zipped up my slacks.
"Legal."
He laughed in disbelief.
"Oh, Jesus."
When I returned to the bar, Marianne had no less than four men around her
trying to get her attention, and, none-too-subtlety, peer into the gaps in
her dress. She seemed to be enjoying herself, and when I approached, she
gave me a big kiss. The men around her backed away, various looks of
embarrassment and jealousy on their faces. I recognized only one of them,
Bart Creagler, another ex-football player.
Marianne hugged my arm and smiled up at me. Bart pried his eyes off
Marianne's butt and extended his hand.
"Steve, how you doing?"
"Not bad. You?"
I watched the other men staring forlornly at Marianne and resisted the urge
to grin at them.
"Pretty good," Bart said. "What have you been up to?"
Before I could answer him, a tall, thin woman with a barely restrained look
of fury on her face appeared at Bart's side. I recognized her as (the
former?) Marcy Conrad, who had been a cheerleader at All Saints and had dated
Bart off and on during high school. She gave me an icy glare before taking
Bart's arm. Bart shrunk into himself as he realized who it was.
"Hello, Steve."
"Marcy."
The other men around us had dispersed into the crowd at Marcy's approach.
She turned her eyes on Marianne, a razor-thin smile spreading over her face.
"And this must be your daughter."
Bart's eyes goggled, and I had to pause a moment to formulate a response.
But Marianne beat me to it.
"No, actually, I'm his fuck toy."
Marcy's jaw dropped about six inches.
"Although," Marianne went on, "sometimes I'll pretend to be his daughter, you
know, yell out 'Fuck me, Daddy' when we're having sex. He likes me to do
that."
Marcy stared at her, then me, utterly speechless. I gave her a small grin.
"She's kidding."
She pulled herself closer to her husband and took a ragged breath.
"Um, I think I see someone I need to talk to. I have to go over there."
"It was nice to meet you," Marianne said sweetly.
Marcy just straightened herself and dragged Bart off into the crowd.
Marianne grinned up at me.
"That was deft."
"She asked for it."
"I guess so."
The dinner began shortly after that, and if the people we sat with were
uncomfortable about Marianne's presence, they did their best not to show it.
I still saw a lot of people pointing in our direction and whispering to each
other.
After dinner, Marianne dragged me out to the dance floor, where the DJ was
playing a succession of late-70's disco tunes. Her braless breasts bounced
freely around in her dress while she danced, and nearly every male eye in
range was fixed on her, to the consternation of most of the women present.
As near as I could tell, she noticed and seemed to be enjoying it.
The music changed to a KISS ballad, and we came together. I linked my hands
at the base of her back, and she slid her arms around my waist and laid her
head on my chest. The fabric of her dress was so loose and clingy that she
almost felt naked.
"Were you into disco in high school?"
"No. I hated it. I was in the anti-disco crowd from the beginning."
Over her shoulder, I saw a man nearby staring at Marianne's butt.
"What did you like?"
"Led Zeppelin. Foghat. Black Sabbath. KISS. That kind of stuff."
She pressed herself closer to me, purring and rubbing her breasts against my
chest. Then she rose up on her toes and leaned toward my ear.
"How much longer do you want to stay here?"
"Why?"
"Because I'm am very fucking horny right now."
I laughed softly.
"Let's go then."
We stopped dancing, and she pulled me toward the exit. We paused only to
retrieve her wrap from the coat check before heading toward the elevator. I
gave the room one final glance on the way out, seeing at least a dozen men
dejectedly watching Marianne's exit. I allowed myself a small smile of
triumph as we left.
I had gotten a suite, and our room was on the top floor. The bellboy had
left our bags on the bed, and the bottle of champagne I had ordered when I
made the reservation had apparently just arrived. Marianne giggled when she
saw it.
"Are you trying to get me drunk?"
"Do I need to?"
She gave me a sly glance but said nothing, drifting out to the balcony as I
opened the champagne. I poured two glasses and joined her outside. She
leaned against the railing, looking down at the city around us. A light wind
was blowing, and her blonde hair fluttered around her face. She took her
glass and took a sip.
"It's pretty."
"Nothing like you."
She turned around to face me, smiling.
"Did you enjoy that tonight? All those men drooling over me?"
"It was fun to watch. But you're more to me than that. Much more."
"I know. I wouldn't have done this otherwise."
She set her glass on the railing and reached between us, unzipping my slacks.
Her hand slipped inside, through the fly of my boxers, and found my dick.
I bent to kiss her as she began to stroke me.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing."
She quickly had me erect, and she pulled my dick out into the night air. She
reached for one of the balcony chairs and sat down, bending forward to take
me into her mouth. I felt her swirling her tongue around the head a few
times before withdrawing. Then she took a swig of champagne and bent back
down.
I grunted, grabbing at her head when the champagne bubbles bit at my dick.
She swished it around her mouth, making the sensations even worse. She
swallowed the champagne and bobbed rapidly over me. I looked around us,
seeing only the lights of downtown. We were back lit, and anyone looking up
here could see this.
"The lights," I gasped.
She withdrew far enough to answer me.
"I don't care. Let them watch."
She took another mouthful of champagne and resumed her attentions. I
groaned, swaying on my feet at what she was doing. Then suddenly she stood
up, hiked her dress up to her waist, and turned away from me, presenting her
ass for my enjoyment as she braced herself against the railing.
I didn't need any further encouragement. I fitted my erection between her
buttocks, and I felt her reaching between her legs to guide me in. She was
almost searingly hot after the cold champagne, and thoroughly wet and ready.
I pushed myself into her up to the root, pressing against her tight
cheerleader butt. She pushed back against me, moaning.
I gave in to the experience, looking past Marianne to the darkened city below
us. I thrust at her rapidly, feeling her fingers brushing against my balls
as she played with herself. I kept my hands tight on her waist, guiding her
movements. The musky scent of her sex rose up between us, hot and thick.
She let out a soft cry, arching her back to open herself further to me. I
continued plundering her wonderful ass, lost in the sensations. The hand
between her legs suddenly came up over her neck, and she was pulling her
dress over her head and letting it fall to the balcony floor. In a moment,
she was naked except for her heels, completely exposed to anyone who wanted
to look. And I was fully clothed except for the erection jutting out of my
pants.
"Fuck me!" she groaned. "Fuck me!"
I redoubled my efforts, hammering her butt as she went back to playing with
herself furiously. She cried out once, twice, and her legs buckled under
her. I stabbed forward, almost lifting her in the air, and came like an
out-of-control fire hose. I kept thrusting at her until she was hanging half
over the balcony, big tits exposed to the entire city.
She sank toward the ground, and I bent to pick her up. I carried her inside
and laid her on the bed. I stripped out of my clothes as quickly as I could
and joined her. She rolled against me, and I could feel her legs still
quivering in the last vestiges of her climax.
She giggled.
"That was fun."
"You have no shame, girl."
"If you've got it, flaunt it."
"I've noticed."
She snuggled against me, and we lay together for a few minutes before she
began kissing her way down my chest. She took my deflated dick in her mouth
and set about restoring my erection. In about five minutes, she had
succeeded, and I pulled her up above me. She planted her knees on either
side of my waist and impaled herself on my dick.
She spread herself open, trying to bottom out and get every bit of me into
her. I thrust upwards, causing her to grind her sex against the base of my
cock. She let out a throaty groan. I looked down, seeing her blonde twat
split apart on my dick and the kitten tattoo watching us with a grin. Her
belly ring twitched back and forth as she rode me, moving as her abdomen
heaved.
I was a long way from coming, so I concentrated on helping her along. When
she got within range, I leaned up to suck on her nipples, nibbling and biting
at her as best I could. I soon had them as wet and swollen as her pussy,
which was doing its best to swallow me whole.
Marianne began to move faster, shuddering and gripping my shoulders with
tight claws. Her long blonde hair fell down around our heads, but she
scarcely seemed to notice. She was lost in the agonizing climb toward
orgasm, eyes shut tightly, jaw clenched, face twisted in effort. She rocked
rapidly back and forth over me in an animal rhythm, as if she had surrendered
all control of her body to her primal instincts. Her movements grew more
rapid and spasmodic, and little feline cries, increasing in volume, escaped
her mouth. Finally, with a piercing shriek, she dug her nails into my
shoulders, and slammed herself down on me three or four times. She shuddered
above me for a good five or ten seconds before collapsing into a quivering
mass of flesh.
I rolled her on her side, remaining inside her. She curled into my arms,
still shaking and shuddering. I pulled a thigh up to my waist and moved
slowly in and out of her. She whimpered, nuzzling my chin.
"Nice?"
"Nice?" she gasped. "My God, nice."
I kissed her.
"Mmm."
"Don't stop," she whispered. "Make love to me all night. I'll sleep when we
get back."
I laughed softly.
"I'll try."
She rolled on her back, pulling me above her. I continued my slow, steady
movements, just enjoying the sensations of being inside her. She wrapped
herself around me, licking my ear and nibbling my earlobe.
"Think of all those guys looking at me tonight," she moaned, "drooling over
me. Think of them. I bet they're all fucking their wives now, or beating
off, thinking about me. Thinking about my ass . . . about my tits . . .
about my pussy. The one you're fucking right now. You're where they all
want to be. You're fucking me . . . oh God, you're fucking me." She
whimpered again, biting my ear. "Don't stop. Fuck me. Oh God, fuck me--"
She shuddered under me, whimpering through her nose, clawing at my back.
With a sharp cry, she thrust herself up at me, heaving in orgasm. I slowed
down as she coasted to the end of it, kissing her softly, licking the sweat
at her brow. She hugged me tightly to her.
"I love you."
"I love you too, Kitten."
We made love on into the night, insatiable and inexhaustible. We did it a
third time past midnight, going at it until we were both too sore to
continue. When we finally ran out of gas at about one-thirty, we returned to
the balcony and lay together under a blanket, enjoying one last glass of
champagne.
"Why can't we do this more often?" Marianne asked.
"Make love until neither of us can stand up?"
She giggled.
"No. Go out alone together. Like a normal couple."
"I can think of two reasons, both of which think you're at Ashley's right
now."
I felt her tense up next to me.
"Steve?"
"What?"
"What if I told you that they don't know where I am?"
I froze.
"What?"
She was silent for a few moments.
"You said it was time. You're right. I've been trying to tell them for a
few days. I couldn't bring myself to do it. So I just decided to force the
issue. I didn't tell them where I was going tonight. When we get back
tomorrow, then I'll have no choice but to tell them."
Oh, shit.
* * *
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