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: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: 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: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+