Paulette Smalls - Come and get it!

Holding the flap of her cunt lips open with the fingers of her left hand, Val worked the tip of the vibrator up and down her crotch. Beginning at her anus, working her right hand forward, she stroked the buzzing, prick like shaft down between the lips of her cunt. When she came to the entrance hole of her cunt, she inserted the tip of the instrument slightly into her, holding it in place by tensing her vaginal muscles, and by gripping it with her cunt lips. As the vibrator quivered, sending ripple like vibrations deep into her pussy, she got hotter and hotter; and her cunt got wetter and wetter. The vibrator began to slide in. She arched her hips up, squeezing her eyes tightly closed, and the vibrator continued to slither into her, without its ever being touched. Her cunt literally ate it up, swallowed it whole, until only the stubby white tip protruded between the widely curving lips of her cunt.

Eddie began to fuck her, very, very slowly. Inch by inch his cock slipped into her, his thick, round pink shaft, until it filled her completely with the most wonderful hardness she had ever experienced in her life. She arched her hips up to meet the downward plunge of his shaft, and her fingers moved automatically to the lump of her clitoris as she brought herself off.

"I'm coming!" Val moaned, flitting her clitoris with her fingernail, and ramming the vibrator savagely in and out of her cunt. "Fuck me Eddie… fuck me… oh God… I'm coming… oh."

The second time she came, Val lowered her legs, closed them, and let the vibrator hum her to orgasm. Buried deep inside her, setting up a aeries of vibrations which built steadily, inexorably, until she was coming again. The third time she came, instead of thinking about Eddie, she found herself fantasizing about her own husband. No matter what she did, she could no longer escape from their very serious problems. Sooner or later she knew she was going to have to do something about that.

The restaurant was on First Avenue, midtown, right on the corner. As if fixing it in his sights, the cabdriver aimed the taxi at its wide glass doors. With a squeal of acceleration, which signaled the light had changed from red to green, Doug was thrust back against the grimy vinyl seat. The cab leaped forward like a springing animal, darting out ahead of the heavy noontime traffic. In a straight diagonal line which took them from one side of First Avenue to the other, the driver brought his cab to a sudden, bone crunching standstill, directly in front of the restaurant.

Turning casually, the thick-faced driver grinned at Doug through the thick plastic partition which separated the front and rear of the cab.

"Buck eighty-five."

Doug exhaled tightly, but forced himself not to say anything. Be thankful you got here in one piece, he advised himself. From his wallet he took two one dollar bills, three dimes from the aide pocket of his jacket. He paid the driver, then slid across the seat toward the door. Before he reached it, the door swung open. Through the window he could see the uniform of the doorman from the restaurant.

"Thank you," Doug muttered, climbing from the taxi. He wondered if he was supposed to tip the doorman.

The early summer sun was exceptionally bright, and it made Doug squint. A wave of heat swelled up from the sidewalk, engulfing him.

The doorman turned, smiling vacantly, and nodded to a man and woman. They were standing just inside the restaurant, framed behind its large glass doors. Pushing open one of the doors, the man held it open for the woman as she followed him out. A long cool finger of air-conditioned air sliced through the humidity. Dressed in what was obviously expensive summer weight clothing, the couple smiled appreciatively at Doug, end then hurried past him, heading for his vacated cab. Over his shoulder, Doug could hear the doorman say: "Have a good day, Sir." He turned to see the man hand the doorman a dollar tip.

Guess that answers my question, he thought, hurrying. He pushed open the thick glass door and entered the restaurant.

Inside it was cool and dimly lit, and very, very crowded. He was aware of the murmur of muted voices and of clinking glasses. Filling in the background was a soft, almost colorless music. The stirring aroma of food reminded him that he was hungry, and that annoyed him. Squinting his eyes further, he looked for Val.

The restaurant was divided into two sections, and across the far wall on his left was a bar. It was solidly packed with mostly men and Doug was certain that if Val was there, she'd stand out. Nevertheless, he checked carefully, rust to be certain. NO Val.

The dining area was on the left, two steps down from the bar, very properly roped off behind heavy elegant drapery. At the base of the stairs, just to the left of a sea of men and women sitting at countless rows of tables, stood the maitre d'hotel. Doug headed for him, gazing across the faces of the eating people.

"I'm supposed to meet my wife for lunch."

"Your name, Sir?"

"Barstow…"

"Oh, yes, Mr. Barstow. Your wife told me to expect you. Let's see… she's sitting at…" – he consulted his floor plan – "… table twenty-three."

Doug looked for her. "If you could just point the way…"

"I'll have someone take you."

He called over a waiter, handed him a menu, and instructed him to take Doug to Val's table. Doug shook the maitre d'hotel's hand, slipping him two dollars for his effort. He followed the waiter through a twisting maze until they came to table twenty-three. Val was sitting there alone, reading the menu. In her right hand, her fingers wrapped around the tapered stem of her glass, was a half-consumed Manhattan.

"You're late," Val said, without looking up from the menu. "As usual."

"I didn't even know I was supposed to be here until twenty minutes ago. I was in meetings all morning."

"Would you care for a cocktail before your meal, Sir?" the waiter asked.

"A martini. Very dry."

"Madam?"

"What? Oh." Val looked up from her menu. "Just a second." She drained her drink, then handed the glass to the waiter. The menu consumed her interest again. "I'll have another, please."

"What is this all about?" Doug asked once the waiter had gone after their drinks. "Why are we meeting here?"

"For lunch, darling. For lunch."

"I know that," he snapped, a little too loudly. He lowered his voice quickly, looking around self-consciously at the people nearby. "Why are we having lunch?"

"So that we can talk – like civilized human beings, without ripping out each other's throat. We could hardly do that in this crowd could we?" Val turned the page in her menu, reading it as she spoke. "I guess we're going to be forced to rationally discuss things."

"Why here? It's so damned expensive."

"How typical," Val said, glancing up lust long enough to cast him a withering glare. "You're always so economical when it comes to my pleasures. Pretend I'm a business client, darling, and this is a business lunch. You could even pick up the tab and write it off as an expense. Make believe I'm not only just your wife."

Doug opened his mouth, looked around, and snapped off the end of a bread stick.

Behind the menu, Val smiled. "Aren't you going to look at your menu?"

"I know what I want to eat."

Val sighed. "Yes, I know; the same meal you always order. You've no sense of adventure, that's what's wrong with you. You're so predictable, rigid."

"I know what I like. Why shouldn't I have what I enjoy most?"

The waiter arrived with their drinks, distributing them with a fluid grace.

"Are you ready to order yet; Sir?"

"I am. But…" Doug glanced over at Val.

"I'll be a few more minutes."

"My wife likes to read the entire menu before ordering," Doug explained, his voice tight with frustration. He shook his head. "No, we're not quite ready yet. Thank you."