Chris Simon - A real hot number

We walked towards the bedroom, and she carried her white square pocketbook with her. I watched her as we walked: she led the way. She was quite tall; taller than I with her heels on. At first she had given me the impression that she was thin, but as she walked I saw that I had misjudged her. Her ass was full and solid, and jutted out through her skirt with no trace of thinness or bones. Her legs, too, were solid and well proportioned: her calves were well-shaped and tapered, and her thighs curved and smooth, reminding me of the toned, muscular limbs of a dancer. She was wearing a solid blue mini, and her body moved subtly under it, like a sleek cat.

She sat on the edge of the bed, placing her pocket-book down next to her. I sat beside her and slipped my arm around her shoulder. Her muscles seemed tense or rigid. I applied some pressure to her chin, attempting to tilt her head back so that I could kiss her.

She stiffened her neck and pulled away, "I'd rather you didn't," she said.

"Isn't that what we're here for?" I asked. I didn't like feeling as though she were admonishing me.

"As I explained on the telephone," Ellen Marshall said, "it has to be my way or nothing. Those are my terms."

I considered this for a moment. I didn't like being dictated to, especially in my own house. Yet she was so damned attractive! Her coldness seemed to make me want her even more than if she had been willing. I sensed a passion under that coldness; a fire like none I'd ever been turned onto.

I accepted her condition for the moment. I would wait and see what would happen.

I didn't have long to wait. She put her hand on my cock and began to stroke me through my pants. Her hands were large yet soft, and she moved them with assurance up and down my crotch until she had stoked my cock into a state of solid erection.

"You're big," she said, playing with me through my pants. "I like big men." She said it as though it were a condition that had nothing at all to do with sex.

"Take it out," she said.

I unzipped my pants and pulled my cock out.

She inspected it with her eyes, staring at it for perhaps thirty seconds. Then, apparently satisfied, she returned her hand to the shaft of my cock and began to jerk me off. Her hand moved slowly but steadily, as though her intentions were thoroughly professional. Her hand was like velvet steel: cold and unyielding, but warm, smooth and soft. Her fingers curled around my shaft, and she stroked up and down, turning her fist into a hollow tube through which she guided my cock. Her rhythm was unbroken, and I found myself matching her with slow, sensuous humps upward against her fist.

I put my hand on her breast. Her hand stopped moving and she gave me a long, cold look. I tried to knead passion into her by squeezing her tit, but she didn't respond. All she did was stare at me, holding my cock in her hand, pausing in midstroke. She reminded me of a stern teacher.

I let my hand fall away from her. It wasn't much fun anyway since she wasn't reacting in a way I was used to. As soon as ray hand left her body, she dropped her eyes and resumed her smooth stroking of my cock.

As cold as her exterior was, she was good I've never felt a hand do to me what hers did. Perhaps it was the effect of her coldness weighed against the passionate work she was doing: the contrast made each extreme more intense.

No, I thought, considering that possibility. It wasn't that. She was good. Damn good.

I lay back on the bed and closed my eyes. She continued to move her hand up and down my cock. It was beginning to remind me of a cunt… a warm, humping, pulling, fucking cunt…

Her hand stopped.

I opened my eyes.

"I have to make a telephone call before we can continue," she said.

"A telephone call?" I asked. My cock felt strange now that her hand was no longer touching it.

"To my husband," she explained. "I have to call my husband."

She had a distant look in her eye as she spoke, and I knew there was something very odd about her request. I sensed it had nothing at all to do with me. It was something between her and her husband.

I showed her to the hallway, where the telephone was. I slipped my cock back into my pants and began to walk away. She certainly was enigmatic.

"Don't go," she said. "I want you to stay here with me. Take your cock out again."

I looked at her a moment but her attention was centered in the telephone. I stared at her while she dialed, and she motioned to me to come closer when she had finished.

I stepped closer and could hear the telephone ringing on the other side. There was a click and I heard a muffled man's voice.

"Hi!" she said. "It's me."

She put her hand down against my crotch and pulled my cock out and began to run her hand casually up and down its length.

"I'll be a little late tonight… something came up… something important… no, I don't know when I'll be home… just give Jeff his bottle at nine… I'll change him when I get home…"

She stopped and was listening for a moment. She took her hand from my cock and licked the space between her thumb and index finger. She ran her tongue up and down the curved space several times until her hand glistened with wetness. Then she put her hand back down against my organ and commenced running her hand up and down my cock again. Her hand slid along my cock, making a wet sound.

"No!" she finally said. "I told you… when I'm finished… not sooner… the longer you spend talking to me the longer it's going to take… I'll be home when I'm finished…"

She lifted my hand and placed it on her cunt, on the outside of her skirt. She spread her legs, taking a firm stance, and hunched her cunt against my hand. Her body felt wide under my hand, and I trailed my fingers up the crease of her body, pressing around the curve of the edge.

"None of your business," she said, again picking up the thread of the conversation. "I have my life and you have yours… it was your idea…"

She began to pull her skirt up. Her cunt was framed in a pair of pale blue silken panties. The bulge of her pussy made the front of the panties swell. I could see a thread or two of blond pubic hair curling down from under her panties.

She took my hand and slipped it down her panties, pressing my fingers against her cunt. I felt her hair, and the warmth of her body against my fingers. I began to play with her clit with my finger, but she shrugged her hips and I pushed my hand further back until I found the entrance to her body. I pushed my finger up into her, feeling the sudden wet heat of her cunt. Her body was rather dry and closed, but I continued to push my finger in and out while she continued to jerk me off with her wet hand.

"Look…" she said. "If you must know… I'm with Sue… we're just going to go for a drink or two… that's all…"

I pushed my finger up into her cunt, feeling the flap of fat, hairy flesh press against my knuckles.

"No, John!" her voice was exasperated. "Nothing like that… yes… you can believe me… I'm not like you…"

Her hand was working against my crotch rapidly now, fingers sliding, clutching, grasping pulling. My cock moved in and out, pumping to her rhythm, twisting around slowly, and permitting my hips to complete a humping circle.

"I won't be home too late," she continued. "As soon as we have the drinks… then I'll come right home… You know I will, John! Have I ever not come home?"

Her cunt was growing wetter, and I could feel trickles of moisture running down my finger, making my hand wet.

"I'm not out that much!" she insisted. "Only as much as you… I need some time for myself, too, you know!"

She squeezed my cock hard.

"Yes, John!" she said. "I will… don't worry… I'll be home soon… yes… goodnight… yes, I love you, too…"