Message-ID: <40099asstr$1040973004@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Message-ID: <20021226171827.35357.qmail@web14608.mail.yahoo.com> From: joe ordinary X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Thu, 26 Dec 2002 09:18:27 -0800 (PST) Subject: {ASSM} The Painted Lady X-Original-Subject: Stroy The Painted Lady Date: Fri, 27 Dec 2002 02:10:04 -0500 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: dennyw, newsman Standard disclaimer: Don't try this at home. Graphic sexual activity depicted here--don't read it if you are not of legal age in your locality. Share if you want. comments to: supreordinaryjoe@yahoo.com The Painted Lady--Prelude Part I Richard sat in the Sea Breeze diner at four in the afternoon nursing a coffee. Out on the ocean pelicans patrolled the waves in small squadrons just past the curl of the surf. There were no tourists crowding the narrow beach here. He chose this diner because it looked like a place the locals might eat. It had a sunrise, rather than sunset, view--sunsets were reserved for the paying visitors. He himself was no tourist, although he was a traveler. And he was looking for work. Richard had been making his way along the eastern seaboard working as a carpenter. In the three years since his divorce he'd covered several states. In the back of his mind he might be looking for a permanent berth, but until he found that undefined quality in a place that made it feel like home, he was content to wander. His van was well equipped with tools and rigged for camping, too. He lived simply and without anxiety--just the opposite of his married life. He enjoyed his work and the wandering. Across the nearly empty diner a woman and a girl who might be her daughter were chatting over pie. He gave them a cursory once-over, admiring the older woman's rounded figure and the younger one's deep tan and long, black hair. They were leaning in close and laughing the way women do. It was a pleasant sound. He relaxed in the cool booth watching the waves, riding the rise and fall of the women's voices. He remembered his mother and sisters giggling over girlish secrets when he was a boy. They never really let him in on their world after puberty, he realized. He tried to remember the last time he was in a woman's confidence since then. He couldn't really think of a time in his marriage when Charlotte let him into her deepest heart. Clearly the relationship had been built on shallow foundations. He imagined himself sitting at the table with the two women, leaning in to hear their whispered confidences. Their perfume was sweet and the skin of their arms, covered in sun-bleached hair, glowed. He reached out to put his arms around them both and pulled them close to his chest, burying his nose in the shiny, black hair of the girl. Ohh, she smelled like hay and sunshine. The motherly one turned and reached for his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. The girl giggled. One of them began to unbuckle his belt. "Sorry to bother you, Hon, but do you want me to freshen that cup?" The waitress, standing foursquare by the table under her permed, gray hair, startled him from his reverie. "Oh, no thanks," he said, pulling himself up in his seat. "Do you have a yellow pages I could look at?" "There's one in the phone booth outside, Hon." The waitress left the bill and he included a good tip in the cash he dropped on the table. He knew the waitress wasn't making the big volume that the young girls in the tourist places were. He nodded at her as he pushed out the door. `Always keep the waitress on your side', was his motto. "Bye, Hon," she called to his back. He realized that the diner was empty as he walked out the door. He must have been asleep--he hadn't noticed the two women leaving. Pity, he still could feel the tug at his zipper. Not that he was looking for a woman or even a night with a woman. He'd had enough casual sex to be thoroughly unsatisfied. And his physical "problem" had discouraged most women from a second night in his bed. Charlotte, his wife, the martyr had made a virtue of his problem, though no solution really for him. But his fantasies, quite sufficient to keep his libido occupied, sprang best from some concrete inspiration. He would have liked to follow that daydream a little further. Maybe tonight he would. As the went out the door he looked left and right, locating the phone booth under the eave of the building at the far right end. He scuffed through the sugar-sand that dusted the asphalt parking lot and pulling the phone book up from where it hung on it's metal lanyard, began researching likely sources of carpentry work and a campground. Custom builders usually could use a good lead-man. He liked to work from project to project, promising nothing as far as longevity went, but building a solid reputation with his employers in each town. From his own construction business he had kept the habit of making each job a good reference for the next As he scanned the Yellow Pages, a regular tapping sound filtered into his consciousness. Click, click, click--an engine refusing to start. He looked across the parking lot at a light green Chevy, the only vehicle in sight other than his van. The woman at the wheel cranked it one more time and pounded the dash when it failed again to turn over. She got out and slammed the door. It was the mom. Her sun-dress spun at her hips as she turned to deliver a kick to the side of the car. From the dents there it looked like this might not be the first time she'd felt the need. Standing up, she looked even better than before, her coppery hair reaching her shoulders and her pinched waist accentuating her other curves. Richard was torn between offering his help and melting slowly around the corner. He'd often been the knight in shining armor, but rarely had the damsel in distress been much of a damsel. Women these days were suspicious of chivalric instincts and the effort usually proved to cause more trouble than good. He closed the book and slowly let it down. He kept one eye on the woman as he inched away from the booth. Too late. She saw him as she turned to stride angrily into the diner. Her face immediately lit with relief. He'd seen that look too many times before. Men were handy if a woman needed something fixed. He could fill the old male role of rescuer and general handyman, but let him presume to ask the woman to fill the old female role of domestic servant and harem girl and see what happened. Or so he was thinking, resentfully, as she approached him. "I'm so sorry to bother you. My battery seems to be dead. Is there any chance you could give me a jump--I've got cables." She slowed and smiled as she said it, putting her hands on her admittedly nice hips. The woman was breathing a little hard from her outburst at the car, pushing up some cleavage and her nostrils flared a bit, but she had good control of her anger, it seemed. Her smile went straight to his balls. "Damn," he winced inside. Richard returned the smile. "Yeah, I can help you." What else could he do. He believed he was a gentleman. He believed he should behave as a gentleman regardless of the likely outcome. So he walked to his van. The woman thanked him and turned to walk back to her car. Richard watched her hips sway under the cotton dress, her calves flexing, and admitted that she was an attractive female, damsel or not. He liked the way she was upholstered. Starting the car was a simple matter of connecting the cables and turning the key. They let the engine run a little to charge the battery, if that was the trouble. As Richard opened the door to put his gloves back in the tool-kit under the bed-platform in the van, he made sure the woman noticed the quality of his rig, that she saw the finely finished cabinetry and well-fitted appointments he's built into his mobile toolbox/home. He wanted her to especially take note of his shelf of books. Hemmingway, Steinbeck and Annie Dillard stood there, among others. "My name is Jane." She extended her hand. "Thanks so much again for helping." "Looks like the battery or the starter," he said, "Either one." He was reluctant to make conversation beyond his role as rescuer even as he presented his best I-am-the-man front despitehimself. "I haven't seen you around. On vacation?" She was looking at him and his van curiously. "Ah, no, just got to town. Looking for work." "What do you do?" "Carpentry, that sort of thing." He was moving slowly toward the driver's side door. "Go straight to a mechanic with that car--it might not start once you shut it off." "Well, I could use a carpenter at my place, occasionally. I own a B&B just up the highway. Do you have a card?" She was following him. He got in the van, shut the door and handed out one of the cards he kept on the dash. Richard Taylor Problem Solver 888-555-2222 Anything to do with houses He always felt a little silly extending his introduction by way of the insipid marketing ploy on his card, but in this case he hoped it would get him out of the parking lot quicker. "That's my cell. Leave a message if I don't pick up." He took the paper she extended to him, started the van and gave a small wave as he eased it out of the parking lot. In the rear view mirror he saw the woman watching him go. As he thought, she hadn't given him anything for his trouble but a brochure for her bed and breakfast, The Painted Lady. Well, that was mildly amusing. She kept watching as he rolled onto the highway and accelerated south, the sun pressing down on them both and the bleached-out town. Part II Jane looked again at the card in her hand and then at the receding van. "What an intriguing guy," she thought. From the gray in his hair he seemed over forty, but he had the work-hardened fitness of a carpenter. He seemed unusually reserved, though. It was nice not to get leered at like most men did when they met her. She knew she was attractive, but was tired, tired, tired of superficiality. The only men that she usually met that she didn't already know were tourists, not the sort she wanted to get to know. She'd lived in this little backwater town for most of her life mostly working for her aunts at the B&B, even after her beautiful Xiomara was born--all the locals were friends or best avoided. They all knew her and her story all too well. She chafed at the small town social life, but the B&B was a responsibility that wouldn't let her go even for a weekend. Keeping The Painted Lady afloat and her daughter, Xiaomara, in college kept her nose to the grindstone. She realized she shouldn't stand there musing, but needed to get back to the house quickly. She'd only been able to steal an hour away from the demands of the guests to eat with Xiomara and wish her a safe drive back to school. She would be needed to get dinner on the table. Jane zipped back to The Pained Lady, dismissing the carpenter's advice about stopping at the mechanic--she couldn't afford it right now and knew she could get a jump at home if she needed it. There was always a guest with their car in the driveway, damn-it-all-to-hell-anyway. The house, sitting on a rise on the inlet side of the island facing the sunset, appeared quiet as she drove up. The last of the three sets of guests were back from their day's rambling. She hoped Wei had been on top of things this last hour. Her hopes faded as she approached the house. She heard someone wailing and a welter of voices that grew louder as she passed around the old Victorian by way of the porch. When she turned the last corner she saw a group of her guests crowded around the edge of the veranda. Wei was standing to the side, her cell phone pressed to her head. She was speaking rapidly, but when she saw Jane approaching she cut short the call and ran up to her. "Miss Jane!" she reached out in agitation, "Rufus is stuck! I can't get Harry. Mrs. Semple is very upset." It was clear that Mrs. Semple was upset--she was the one wailing. Tears were running down her wrinkled cheeks, as well. For a moment Jane could not place anyone named Rufus among her guests, but as the group parted she recalled. Rufus was the Semple's bulldog. It had its fat head jammed between the rail posts and it lay flattened on its broad body apparently exhausted or dead at the feet of her guests. "Shit!" she thought, "This won't help business." "How long has he been like this? Is he breathing?" She bent to feel Rufus' flank. He was breathing, at least. Mr. Darnell, another prunish guest, offered, "We found him only about 10 minutes ago. We couldn't find you, however. This young lady can only use the telephone, it seems." The others were wringing their hands or looking concerned. They seemed to have exhausted their own small store of resourcefulness. Jane thought quickly. To Wei she said, "You can't reach Harry?" Then gestured for the phone. "I left a message, Miss Jane, but he's not there", she added needlessly. Jane pulled the business card from her pocket. "Problem Solver....Anything to do with Houses" "Well, this fits the bill," she thought as she dialed Richard's number. Richard had stopped at the 7-11 and turned his thoughts again to locating a local builder when his phone chirped at his hip. He didn't get a lot of calls, especially when new in town. He looked at the device suspiciously as he pressed the "talk" button. "Hello" "Richard, Mr Taylor, this is Jane.....you just gave me your card. I have a problem....." "Uh-oh," he thought, "not a clean get-away. And pretty damn quick on the call-back, too. This can't be good. Isn't there a AAA in this town?" "What's the problem?," he asked, sounding professional. "There's a dog with his head stuck in my railing. We've got to get him out before he has a stroke." This last she whispered into the phone. Richard thought, "If she just said, dog-in-a-railing, she can't be making it up--maybe not a come-on after all." But he said," What?, I can't hear you." "Can you please come quick--it's an emergency. I can't get my regular guy." "Where are you?" he asked as he thought, " Regular guy" and "Shit, shit shit shit shitshitshit." "Second left past the Sea Breeze. Follow the road to the end, can't miss it. There's a map on the brochure I gave you." She was right about that, of course. It looked like there was no way out, but to help. Well, at least he could charge whatever he wanted in a situation like this. "I'll be right there," he assured her and clicked off. He hadn't had this interesting an entrance into any other town since the transmission blew out in Savannah. Part III As it turned out, getting the dog un-stuck was about as easy as jump starting the car. He just used his hydraulic jack to press the pickets apart enough to jam the dog's head back through. Once freed, Rufus shook and trotted over to lie down and bask in the tearful relief of his mistress. The other guests wandered upstairs to dress for dinner. Jane took him aside. "Thanks so much for your help. I imagined a mutiny for a few minutes there." "Not good for your reputation, killing your guests, I suppose", he offered, feeling a little glow from his rescuing. He could still enjoy his manly virtue, if only on his own account. Jane turned and walked away. He supposed his self-congratulating attitude had taken the relationship as far as it would go. He was just as glad and started walking to the van. If a thanks was all he was going to get he surely was not going to go begging for anything else. Just as he reached the van he heard her shout. "Richard! I need to give you something for your trouble. " She had walked away to keep from throwing herself into his arms. Now she was running down the front walk. And bouncing very nicely he noticed, in spite of his irritation. She gripped his arm and said, "I am so embarrassed to say that I am really short on cash right now. The summer season is just ending and things will be more in the black over the winter, but right now I'm stretched real thin. I would offer you a place to stay, but this week I'm booked up. Like I said, the summer season is over, but I'm just getting into the high-dollar schedule. Do you need a place to shower and a couple of meals?" As she looked at him with a certain unguarded appeal in her eyes Richard weighed his options. The woman looked needy, but needy for what? He, on the other hand, didn't feel a need for anything in particular. No, he was lying to himself. Richard liked to think he had worked out an understanding with his baser desires. He had even had a conversation with his penis about it. He called his penis Dick. Not original, but useful. Maybe he'd been alone too long--talking to his penis was perhaps a bad sign. Worse, his penis talked back. Or so it was easy to imagine. They had pretty meaningful discussions about life and manhood, really. He'd worked out some important issues talking with Dick. Dick was shouting at him now, "Yes! We need a shower. Yes! We need a couple of meals. How about a couple of pillows, if you know what I mean. She's got some nice pillows. And did you see that Asian girl?" Richard paid no attention to Dick's rambling. It was too late for job-hunting today anyway. "I usually camp in the van. But I could use a shower." He left the rest unsaid, caught in his own ambivalence. "OK," she led him up the walk, "I'll show you the shower and you can join us for dinner tonight. I've got to get busy cooking right now." Jane directed him to the bath that guests used after swimming in the inlet and laid out a towel. She hurried off, humming, to the kitchen. Richard stood in the hallway admiring the fine old house, decorated in the popular eclectic, antique style. A Victorian like this one, decorated with much multi-colored gingerbread on the porches and cornices as they often were in San Francisco, came to be called a painted lady. Obviously that is where this place's name came from. It was solid and well made, though out of place on this southern beach. Perhaps some northern transplant had been unable to leave familiar architecture behind. This was the kind of house he liked best. Old, but well built, needing good tending, like a ship, to keep it afloat. He'd much rather rescue a house than a woman. In his experience houses stayed fixed longer. After retrieving his clean clothes from the van, Richard had a good muscle-loosening shower. He mused on the woman under the sun-dress and Dick stood up and waved himself around. He wanted to go exploring. Richard gave him a cold rinse to cool his enthusiasm. The dinner was a varied collection of simple southern dishes deftly prepared. The guests, all elderly, talked about the day's adventures, not the least of which was the dog's near disaster. Richard received his share of praise for the rescue. He gathered from their conversation that the old maiden aunts who had run this place were not long dead and, although the guests did not say it out loud, the place was not the same. His stomach was full and his pride was polished. Jane darted in and out of the kitchen serving with Wei's help. The two of them did a fine job together. Richard admired both their teamwork and their physical charms as discreetly as he could while carrying his end of the conversation. Jane had a friendly way of bending over the table to serve, showing a nice cleavage. "Damn," thought Richard. "Damn," echoed Dick. Part IV When all the guests retired to the verandah or their rooms, Richard set out for a stroll on the beach. He walked a long while thinking on the day's events and the new town's prospects. Dick had a lot to say. Together they put the world in order. The sun was nearing the horizon when he turned around to amble back to The Painted Lady and darkness had fallen when he returned to the van. Inside, Richard popped the screened windows to let in the cooler night air and stretched out under a sheet. The walk, as intended, made sleep easy to come by. Jane attended to all the evening duties, helping guests with their rooms and making sure all were settled before the 10 O'clock hour, understood to be the time after which she was not to be bothered except in emergencies. Wei left at 9. Jane went to her attic room at 10 and sat at the window, thinking. She realized that her reaction to the carpenter stemmed from loneliness and unrelieved desire. Since her aunts had died and left her this place two years ago she hadn't had time to date or otherwise assuage her body's needs. The dates she had had weren't any great shakes anyway. She'd had to go 30 miles south just to pick up a decent looking man. This was fraught with disappointment. She really hadn't had a decent relationship, either emotional or sexual for five years. At 37 she felt the clock ticking. As she watched the waves, she saw Richard walking up the beach in the moonlight. He struck a chord in her that had been still for a long time. Her body pulled her in his direction like the tide was pulled by the moon. Just seeing him elicited a warm tingle in her core, an itch that needed to be scratched from the inside. And a thirst that she suspected was one that few others than her felt. There was something about a strong man like him that made her mouth water. She looked at him and felt the ache as much in her throat as in her vagina. Jane wanted him in her mouth, to coat him with spit, to coax his seed from him and taste his potency, to savor the metallic, sweet essence of him as much as she wanted him between her legs. Even in high school she'd had this peculiar taste in men's juice. She got a reputation in this little town that still colored the way the men thought of her. Despite becoming a middle-aged mom and business woman, despite the intervening 18 years, she still felt the thirst. She realized, seeing Richard stroll down the sand, that she could not resist her desire. Aside from the inconvenience of the paying guests, she could see no reason not to go after him. Except that he seemed so reserved. Perversely, that only made him more desirable. And he was a handy man. The Painted Lady needed him, too. Jane sat in the window seat, thinking of Richard's calm competence, imagining the arc of his back and the soft, downy curve of his ear. Her hands slid, as they often did, to the warm cleft between her legs. She hugged her own full, flushed body as she imagined he might. Richard dreamed. He was working on a house that frequently inhabited his dreams. He was building it alone, from plans of his own design. It was a pleasant dream that he often had. Each piece of lumber was placed just so and the house took shape under his hands in perfect order. The joy of the building filled him. He turned with a beam balanced in his grip, pivoting around his hips, feet planted firmly, swinging the long lumber into place. With tenderness and precision he lowered the beam into pockets he'd chiseled out of the sill plates and the fit was perfect. He couldn't have passed a piece of paper through the joint. The smell of wood and sweat filled his head. He could feel the sun touch his naked back. The leather toolbelt hugged his hips and the tools dangled, jangling, each in their proper place, each with its own purpose and design, each the culmination of generations of gentle evolution--perfect for its intended purpose in the carpenter's hand. He reached for his hammer, pulling it smoothly from the loop at the back of his belt. He stretched his arm in its full arc and brought the weight of the hammer gliding down with a mathematical grace to strike the peg that would secure the beam. He'd learned to let gravity do its share of the work, to guide the effort of his shoulder and arm and back directly and without waste into the nail. Ease and rhythm would allow him to do this all day and to see the house take shape piece by piece. In the dream he never tired of the job of putting the house together and the house never seemed to get any closer to completion even though he could also see the finished product. It was one of those dreams. He lifted his arm and, "bang", drove the peg again, lifted and "bang", lifted and "bang" again. The hammer, as it passed, ringing, by his ear said, "Richard..." "Bang'" "Richard" "Bang" "Richard" His hammer had never said his name before. He turned his head to look at the talking hammer and, "Pow!" hit his thumb as square and as hard as he'd ever hit any nail. He sat straight up in bed grabbing his hand. He was panting. The pain seemed so real. "Richard!" It was a whisper coming through the window of the van's side door by his head......a tapping on the glass. He focused his eyes on the sound. Jane's face took shape. "Richard, can I talk to you?" She had a nice way of asking, but his thumb still throbbed with dreamed pain. Was there another emergency? "What?" was all he could choke out. "I want to talk to you, please?" "OK, the door's not locked." He reached over to make sure and she opened the door and stepped on the sill. He made out in the moonlight that she was wearing a thin robe over a light cotton nightdress. She seemed all soft and round as she sat down on the edge of his mattress. She brought a smell of lilac and animal in with her. He raised himself on his elbow. "What's the problem? What time is it?" "Just 11:30. I need someone to talk to." Jane knew that she could get tossed out any minute, but was willing to take the risk. She couldn't figure out why the guy was so shy unless he was gay. Her instincts said, no, however. "It's just that this place is getting to me. I can't get a vacation from here and one more disaster like that one today and I may snap." "How'd you come to run this place?" Jane told him about how her aunts had kept her each summer when she was kid, then how they'd taken her in entirely when she'd had Xiomara at 16 and her family had disowned her. She'd stayed on to help with the place as the two women grew older and finally, when they died, leaving it to her, she'd taken full charge. It was a lot harder by herself, though. She and Xiomara were still grieving their deaths. So much had changed all of a sudden in their lives. Richard could sympathize. He told her about his own business and the seemingly endless demands it made on him. His customary capsule version of the end of his business was that when he realized that his employees were making more per hour than he was, he closed it down. About that time his wife decided to trade him in, so he ended up without spouse or family and a very portable job. He'd been wandering ever since, and much happier. Jane began to think she understood his reluctance to warm up earlier, but she thought she'd maybe pried an opening in his reserve now. She made her move. "Will you hold me?" She curled herself into the curve of his body, pressing back into him with her hips. He could hardly say no, could he? Her head on his left arm, he wrapped her in his right, careful to let his hand rest somewhere in the middle between her breasts and her crotch. She took his hand in hers and snugged it between her breasts. "Oh, God," said Dick, rising. Richard was breathing hard down Jane's neck. She squirmed against him, nesting the rising organ between her butt-cheeks. He was caught in a terrible balance between keeping his agreement with himself and succumbing to the unmistakable seduction. He knew that some kind of trouble would come of it. He didn't have any reason to believe otherwise. He could console himself with the thought that he had fought until the last to resist........ Still, her body insisted and his responded. He was stiff from his toes to his scalp with desire, trembling in urgency. When she reached behind herself and gripped his erection he gave up any pretence of resistance. Richard pulled her robe and nightdress up around her hips and eased back so she could guide him. He reached a hand down between her legs and felt her dampness. The smell of her arousal was thick in the air. He knew that he himself was oozing fluid--her thumb was smearing it around the crown of his organ. He bit her on the neck and she trembled. She parted her legs, reached between and pressed him against her moist vulva. The lips parted readily and he pushed in. She pushed back and they slid together easily. Jane, with a sharp intake of breath, went stiff. Her orgasm surprised them both with its suddenness. She jerked back against him in her passion again and again as he thrust. Richard ran his free hand up and down her abdomen, pressing into her crotch and sliding up in the sheen of her sweat to pull at her nipples. She responded with even more urgent spasms. With her flailing against him and squeezing his shaft with each climax, Richard emptied into her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and curled into her as each thrust shook him. His body took over, locking them together in ecstatic rhythm until he was spent. The long wind-down gentled them both into sleep. Jane passed out in bliss. She floated in perfect peace for several hours, then stirred as Richard rolled away, asleep. She felt hollowed. And slick-sticky. She eased herself over the edge of the mattress and knelt on the doorsill. She looked affectionately at the sleeping man and felt his seed slip from her. It was hot on her thighs. There seemed to be quite a lot, too. She reached down and touched herself where he was running out. She dipped her finger in and brought it to her mouth, put out her tongue and tasted him. A good tang. Jane was surprised how much semen was oozing out of her. She tucked her nightdress between her legs and tried to staunch the flow. By the time she had walked back to the house the wad of cloth was soaked. "This," she thought, "is a bonus." Part V Richard didn't usually sleep late, but this morning he was awakened not by the birds and early sunlight, but the sound of cars being loaded and grinding away on the gravel of the drive outside The Painted Lady. He'd noticed that Jane was gone sometime in the night, but wasn't surprised. "Well," he mused, "she's fucked my brains out." She seemed to have her own agenda. Perhaps she'd regretted the seduction. He gathered some fresh clothes and made his way to the shower. Jane, having fed the guests their breakfasts, cleaned the table and carried the dishes in to Wei, who was loading the dishwasher. She still felt the tingle of the night's lovemaking, quick though it had been. Keeping an eye on the van, she hoped that Richard would not just drive off, scared off, without saying goodbye. Or waiting for seconds. She was still extremely horny. And thirsty. When she saw him come walking in with his clothes under his arm, she directed Wei to go up to strip the guest beds and start the laundry. She listened for the shower. Richard slipped quietly through the house. He could hear someone's footfalls upstairs--he wanted to avoid talking to Jane just yet. He needed the stimulation of the shower to help him sort his thoughts. If this sort of thing only led to a bad end, then he was off to bad start. He was amazed at the woman's insistence last night, and his own weakness. He should never have stayed for the first shower. Dick was doing too much persuasive talking. Now here he was in the shower again trying to find an exit strategy. He was reminded of the saying, "You need to go in to get out." Jane turned the knob slowly and eased the door open. Yes, Richard was in the shower and his taut body was just visible behind the patterned glass. She shut and locked the door. Richard caught a movement from the corner of his eye. As he turned, shutting off the water, Jane stepped into the steamy shower, naked and smiling. She put her finger to his lips. "Ssshhhhhh" Dick sprang straight up for attention and Jane gave it to him. She wrapped her fingers around the thick shaft and moved the skin up and down over his hard spine while pulling Richard's face down for a warm and moist kiss. She hadn't kissed him last night, but made up for that now, not breaking off for a breath for a good long while. Their tongues languidly tangled. Richard nipped at her lips and let his hands wander down to cup her behind.. He was a good kisser, she realized with relief. Richard knew his escape plan was down the drain and surrendered to the pleasure of the moment. There was time enough for talking later. Richard got his first good look at her now. She was a little shorter than his six feet and firm in the arms and legs. Her breasts were heavy and melon-like. They had some heft, like he preferred, but were not too big and the nipples were fat, sticking up at a perky angle. Her hips were full and yet her waist was trim. Her tan was bisected by the lines of a modest bikini shadow. Her bush was only shaved enough to keep it in the panties. He liked that, too. Jane began to slide down his chest. She kept her grip on his erection and nibbled at his little teats as she sank lower. Richard leaned his weight against the shower wall as she fell. This was her game to play. He still might turn her off. If she insisted on blowing him she would just have to take the consequences. He'd never had a woman who would blow him twice--not after seeing how much jism he pumped out. He supposed he was a freak. He liked a blowjob as much as the next guy, but even, or especially, his wife wouldn't do it for him. Just too much stuff. A lot of women didn't even like all that goo between their legs. Charlotte had made a big production of putting down two layers of towels whenever she condescended to lovemaking (only for making babies, who never happened). That really took a lot of the spontaneity out of it, but he blamed himself. Even the vasectomy hadn't reduced the flow noticeably. No condom would hold it all, either, and the wet spots were olympic-sized. Well, Jane was about to get the usual surprise. She was moving her lips over his wash-board stomach and running her thumb around Dick's head, again smearing the pre-cum. She took a drop of the glycerin-like fluid and placed it on her tongue. Her eyes closed in pleasure. She made sure Richard was watching. He was. He saw her open her mouth wide and pull his organ forward. Then she slowly eased her lips over the crown and simply closed her mouth. Her tongue began circling inside, caressing the end of his erection with tenderness. Jane moved her right hand up and placed in just under the crown. Below this she gripped with her left, covering most of the shaft. Then she began stroking while working her lips gently over the tip, popping him through the tight ring of her mouth with each stroke. Richard's legs were stiff and his toes were already curling. She seemed intent on making him shoot as quickly as possible. He was in a kind of waking wet-dream. This did not seem like it could be real. Then she paused, just as he neared the point of no return, "Do you always come as much as you did last night?" He goggled. He could only nod. "MMMM, that's what I'd hoped, Richard. That's what I like--gallons of you." With that she plunged her mouth over him again and stroked again, faster. He looked down at her coppery hair bobbing over him and thought, "Jesus, she wants it, she wants it!" In the most joyous release of his life he erupted exuberantly. The thick ropes of spunk shot through him without reserve. He let go as he never had before, allowing his spasming body to jet out every drop, regretting not a single thrust or squirt. And he watched as Jane tried to take it all. She gripped his cock tight, stroking as he thrust, holding the spewing end in her mouth. After a moment she could hold no more and white streams of semen broke from the corners of her mouth. It bubbled out around him and poured from her chin, dropping in thick garlands to her breasts. She pulled her mouth away and swallowed once, but a mouthful ran out and into the stewam flowing down across her abdomen and still he spouted seed. He splashed along her nose and over into her hair, leaving a streamer across her eye. Jane began laughing at the abundance of it all. She had never seen so much sperm. Her thirst was piqued and she pulled the cock down to her lips again to suck another mouthful from him.. She felt the glaze on her belly and the tickle of the semen as it dripped from her bush. She pumped him with her right hand and scooped up jism from her breast with her left. Wiping the handful of spunk across her mouth, Jane smiled and looked him in the eye as his last dribble oozed out. "God, this is good, Richard. You are one special man. I'd like to keep you." Richard, fucked brainless again, was dumb-struck. He looked down at the woman coated in his cum and could not believe what was happening. Could it really be that there was a match for him after all? Dick, for once, was speechless, too. --------------------------------- Do you Yahoo!? Yahoo! Mail Plus - Powerful. Affordable. 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