The t-shirted, long-legged young woman pulled her panties up, tossed me a confident wink, and threw back the deadbolt.
From my seat in the rented room’s most secluded corner, I watched him cross the threshold. My hands clenched the polished oak chair arms in a vain attempt to suppress the soaring pulse rate. For the umpteenth time I wondered why his unique presence deepened the throb beneath whatever I happened to be wearing, in this case, a short, summer skirt and blouse. Nothing else.
Instant approval flared in his eyes as they set upon his greeter, rendering me invisible as planned. Good.
“I’m Cyndi,” She licked full lips and flashed him a winning smile. “Why don’t I take your jacket?” She closed the door for him, as he was clearly too dazed to remember how. “Get you a drink?”
“No, no thank you.” That accent, still causing such a coronary ruckus in so few words.
“Make yourself comfortable, then. Sit?” She loosened his tie, perched her scantily clad form on the bed and casually tucked a bare leg under herself, enjoying the unease of her new admirer who sat hesitantly to her left.
She tugged her shirt up and over her head to reveal a pair of cream-colored honeydews. “I’ve heard a dirty little secret about you, and these,” she crooned knowingly, glancing down at her perfect, unfettered tits. “Is it true?”
His mouth was agape, but nothing was coming out of it. Except maybe drool.
“You’re quite the shy bloke, aren’t you? I know your type, though. It’s all an act. You use it as bait.” Her hand alighted on his thigh. “And that’s only the second dirty little secret I know about you.” The warm, wayward palm advanced northward, fingers directed with purpose at the swelling below his belt. “What if I told you I knew them all? Would that make you nervous…” Her nail tips raked kitten scratches over his rising terrain. “…or would it turn you on?”
Cyn. Sweetie. You could read a random page from the revenue code and still give him a hard-on.
She tapped the bulge of endorsement in his drawers. “Can I see?” Tacitly he let her release his belt and part his zipper. She tugged out his boxers and peeked in. “Oooh, nice! Nothing to be bashful about here. Come on, then.”
She reclined on the bed, clad in nothing but lime green bikini panties, and provocatively swung her knees open. While her left thumb stirred a nipple to a strawberry point, her other hand launched a top down invasion into her knickers.
He nearly tripped on himself shedding his clothes and knelt naked between her long sexy legs, his stiffening wank toy swiftly in hand.
I spat out my gum ostentatiously into the crumpled paper on which his contact information was scrawled, then tossed both into the waste can. Through the metallic taste of irony I congratulated myself on the third party casting. Good luck getting your third back into this threesome, Vanilla Girl.
***
Vanilla Girl, aka yours truly, had been with Shy Guy before in a one on one collision of equal appetites, or so I thought. A straight fuck, but a torrid one. Direct. Urgent.
Once.
After that “once”? Crickets. No, not exactly. A message: Had a great time, kitten. Thanks; it was really hot. Then crickets.
Did a runaway libido deafen me to what I should have been better attuned? Does a dog whiz on trees? Turned out he already had a playmate whose absence had motivated him to seek attention elsewhere. Unfortunately, by the time I found out, I was already craving seconds. And hating myself for it.
The numero uno tartlet might have been fluent in his preferred dirty dialect, but I had my own triple threat pinch hitter on deck. Cyndi was curvy. Cyndi was lustful. Cyndi spoke the language and was giving me the honors course.
How I found her wasn’t important. Friend? Acquaintance? Personal ad? It was nobody’s business, not even his. She had what he wanted. That’s all.
I sent him her picture and the rendezvous details. Within seconds, he messaged back in the affirmative.
In the gym later that day, the kickboxing bag received a more savage pummeling than usual.
Did he think you were too vanilla? Kick.
Too good-girl? Punch.
Perfect handful-plus tits not enough for him? Kick.
Don’t fucking talk dirty enough for him? Punch. Kick.
Screw it, then. Kick. Punch. Kick.
Sir Short-Attention-Span was about to swallow a flavor he’d never forget. Kick. SLAM.
The bag snapped from its tether and collapsed heavily onto the mat.
***
A full length wall mirror just behind Cyndi’s head reflected her reclining landscape of jutting boobs, a valley of midriff, knuckle bulged lime green knickers, then Shy Guy’s full frontal attitude rising like a lecherous Denali from between her thighs. Slack jawed, he contemplated the bodacious banquet laid out for his consumption.
Nothing shy about the frontal handful he has, I had to admit as I unbuttoned my top. Much more than a handful. Tremors radiated from my feral fault line. Keep it cool, Vanilla.
Safely hidden, I left my blouse open, kept my skirt on, and knelt behind him on an oversize cushion. He wouldn’t see me unless I let him, but he would hear my near-subliminal voice, and definitely feel me if I so chose.
“Why don’t you help her take her panties off,” I prompted.
“Mmm, good idea,” purred Cyndi, rippling her knuckles to create an invitational gap in her knickers. “I want you to get a better look at what I’ve been doing under these.” We were both treated to a creamy glimpse of the pouting Venusian lips exposed by the stretched gusset.
He let go of himself long enough to tug her drawers down over her hips, waiting for her to raise and close her long legs enough for him to finish the task. “Oooh, thank you,” she sighed, spreading again and displaying the rest of her rose petaled goods. “I like that so much better, don’t you? You like what you see, Shy Guy?”
Upon realizing he wasn’t going to snap out of his mute state, I whistled in admiration. “That is one sweet snatch. Maybe if you play your cards right, she just might let you give it a lick. Think you’d enjoy that? I know she would.”
While he still held the dampened wisp of cotton in his right hand, I took him by both wrists.
It was Cyndi who lowered the boom. “No hands from this point on, Shy Guy,” she warned. “If you so much as reach, she and I both disappear from this room. In that case, you get to give yourself all the hand you want.”
His incredulous stare ricocheted in the mirror, while his unhanded manhood strained unflaggingly in the alpine direction of Cyndi’s tits.
“Those are the rules,” she shrugged.
“Are you having me on?” His eyes found me for the first time since Cyndi’s thousand watt presence dazzled him. They ricocheted daggers my way, and the omission of my name from his question didn’t go unnoticed.
I ignored him and ducked out of sight. Did the rude son of a biscuit-eater really think he was the only one capable of dictating terms and conditions?
“We’re not kidding,” asserted Cyndi, who had renewed autoerotic exploratory contact. Which naturally cast the deciding vote.
He allowed me to draw his hands behind his back. “Don’t worry,” I assured him sweetly, knotting his wrists together with Cyndi’s knickers. “This will make it easier for you to comply with the rules.” Satisfied they were secure, I couldn’t resist baiting him. “How does it feel to be handcuffed with a hot girl’s panties, hmm? Oh look, Cyn; it’s making his prick even harder. Touch it and find out for sure.”
Cyndi reached out and gave it a tap with an index finger, then daintily swirled a pinky over its inflated dome. “So it is!” she exclaimed with a carnal glance into his eyes, and licked her fingers.
She leaned back and twirled frosted nails about her turgid, tawny nipples. “Too bad you can’t do this to my tits,” she cajoled. “I can feel the shivers all the way to my…you know…”
I breathed on the back of his neck. “Didn’t I promise you they were perfect for you to wank over? Now if only you could.”
He jerked against his technicolor bindings, but they held fast. While he corrected his distubed balance and considered his predicament, my right hand crept around and hovered millimeters from his hard shaft, close enough for him to feel its warmth but not its contact.
“Since you can’t use your own, would you like to feel my hand on your cock instead?”
Greedily he thrust his hips to meet it, but I pulled out of his reach.
“Would you?” I repeated.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“I want to feel your hand on my cock.”
I traced the air in teasing trails above his straining member. “Say ‘please’?”
“Please,” he hissed, staring at Cyndi’s magnificent tits.
“Say ‘pretty please with vanilla on it’!” I bit my lip to quell the rising mirth.
His eyes met mine over the absurdity. They were as hard as his tool but he managed to expel, “Pretty please with vanilla on it,” visibly swallowing the epithet he was dying to add but didn’t dare.
As a reward, I let a velvet palm graze his underside once, twice, then it softly began to rub him in slow, elliptical loops. My fingers fluttered like restless doves near his balls, my thumb flicked gently at his dribbling tip. He sucked in his breath. I moved in closer. “You really like what you see, don’t you?”
He rocked his thick mast against my fingers as Cyndi’s hand sailed due south along her smooth, tanned tummy.
“Am I holding this erectly…I mean, correctly?” I taunted, palming his girth like a showboating point guard and tugging in a single, upward slide.
“Mmff. A little tighter.” My fingers constricted. “Ohh, that’s better,” he sighed.
“And do you like it when I do this?”
“Mmm. Do that again.”
“Like this?”
“Unh, a little harder…Yesss…so good.”
Cyndi was stroking her slit in earnest, obviously jazzed by his submission to my quick study of a handhold.
“It’s such a turn on to rub my clit while watching her jerk you like that,” she murmured. “Even more fun than watching you wank yourself. Bet you do a really good job, though. I’ve heard you’ve had plenty of practice.”
I bit back another snicker, brushed my perfect handful-plus against his back and gripped him mid-shaft. “You told me you’ve watched yourself fuck your hand in the mirror, but have you ever watched anyone else do it for you?”
He wasn’t listening. His focus fluctuated between Cyndi’s opalesque clit and tumbling underswells.
The mirror’s palette of flesh tones stirred with the vertical motion of a hot pink cotton sleeve eclipsing the faded tan of his hip bone. From the cuff emerged a delicate wrist glittering with filaments of bangle bracelets, then the soft hand which agitated the irately reddened column within its tantalizing wrap. Flashes of vivid fuchsia nail color soared and plummeted as the disembodied, feminine fingers slithered around his rigid rod like intuitive vines curling and climbing with his every sigh of delight.
Whether it was reflexive or manipulative on his part, I’ll never know, but I was suddenly aware of an alien touch beneath the hem of my skirt. Even from his restricted, blind position, he was navigating his fingers toward my half-hidden agenda. They were such a pleasant intrusion that I momentarily forgot myself and leaned hungrily into their tentacled swipes.
Oh fuck, why does he have to be so good. I nuzzled his shoulder, slipping into a nostalgic haze.
“What’s going on over there?” Cyndi’s clear voice jolted me to my senses. No. He wasn’t going to make me lose it again, no matter how delicious it felt, no matter how much I wanted more of his fingers, his mouth, his everything.
It was a struggle to pull away, and to speak, but I did, letting go of his raging boner to make my point. “Cyndi, he’s not being the least bit shy behind his back. You can’t see it, but he’s fingering me under my skirt. Have to admit, I really love it when he does that! But do you think I should let him?”
“That’s against the rules. “We should go.” She rolled halfway over. “I warned you not to use your hands,” she tut-tutted, tossing her blonde hair over her back.
“Don’t,” he begged, making fists. My skirt fell back into place. “Promise.”
I let him wait a count of ten, nodded to her, and regathered his aching shaft in a forgiving caress. “Does that feel better?”
She relented and assumed her provocative pose once more. “Well, if you promise. But don’t let it happen again, bad boy.”
“All right then; enough of the punishment,” I singsonged. “Cyn, why don’t you show him what he would have gotten if he had behaved?”
She pushed herself up by her elbows and leaned forward with a meaningful lick of her lips.
“Look at you,” I teased, “leaking your naughty juice all over my hand, Want her to stick her tongue in your dent and take a taste?”
“Mmmh.”
“I didn’t understand that. Did you, Cyndi?”
She shook her head.
“Yes,” he uttered hoarsely. “Suck me, please.”
“Suck what, please?” she asked, eyes wide with innocence, two fingers tracing her clit from either side.
“My cock…Suck my cock. Please.”
I paused stroking long enough for her tongue to introduce itself wetly to his fiery tip, which inflamed it all the more. She lapped randomly around the top and down the throbbing shaft into the gaps my loosened fingers made.
I guided him into her mouth until he was half submerged. He moaned as he watched his length disappear behind her candied lips.
“Does her mouth feel hot and snug around your boner? Is her tongue flicking at you and sliding under you just the way you like it? Doesn’t it feel so…very…naughty?”
Her fingers had kept constant contact with her peeking pearl as she blew him, ramping up her level of enthusiasm. It wasn’t long before I felt him quiver dangerously beneath my hand.
“I think he’s had enough for now, Cyn. Please yourself.”
Bursting with frustration, he tried in vain to follow the pull of her mouth as it slipped off him. His engorged relay baton was back in my exclusive grip, and more than hard enough to enter the anchor leg.
Cyndi had leaned back again, her thumb-prodded nub poking cheekily from its lair. An ongoing chorus of ‘ooh’s drifted through the room as three of her fingers sank to the hilt and slurped within her pussy. “They’re sooo deep…One is hitting my g-spot and driving me crazy! Can you hear how fucking wet I am!”
I reached around him with my free hand. “I can tell, Cyn. Would you let me borrow a bit of that, please, so he can feel it, too?”
She withdrew them and I caught the crystalline ooze they trailed. Then they plunged into her heat once more.
While my strong hand clenched and pumped him, a fingertip from its supportive twin teased and feathered Cyndi’s lube along his swollen head and just beneath it, mimicking the licks of her tongue. Then a second fingertip doubled the tease. One by one, the others joined in.
“Bet you wish it was your prick sliding where her fingers are. Isn’t that right?”
He groaned in assent.
She looked at me as if in a trance, her face beginning to contort.
My lips continued to spin wicked words close to his earlobe. “You’d love to pull them out, lean down and slide that hard throbbing knob of yours right up against that horny g-spot…it would make you come so hard, wouldn’t it?”
His hips responded with desperate thrusts into the glove that was fashioned to feel as if it had tiny tongues lining its depths.
“You started out wanting to watch it blast all over her tits…but once you got it in, you couldn’t pull out if you tried, could you?”
Cyndi shrieked first, her luscious knockers jiggling, her pussy bucking and sucking insatiably. Her head rocked side to side and splayed her hair over the pillow. Then she drew out her sopping fingers and reached up to score the base of his shaft with her glazed talons.
The sight of Cyndi’s loss of control, combined with the fresh touch on his cock, blew his gasket. He erupted with an expletive and shouted out a name. I aimed his spouting prick at the formidable objects of his lust.
A perverse hailstorm of vanilla globules swarmed the space over Cyndi’s body. One wayward burst overshot her and onto the mirror, clouding his reflection with its splattered viscosity. I let the slackening stem slip free.
Cyndi’s disengaged fingers smeared girl gloss on her thighs. “Wow, that was hot!” She sat up, wiped a sweaty forehead with the back of her wrist, and appraised his blushing, dripping member. “You sure made a mess of me, didn’t you? What a horny fellow you are, Shy Guy. I knew it.” Her tits and torso were liberally laced with his cum, and some had freckled one side of her face and dappled her hair.
His thighs must have been feeling the burn from his position. Stunned and out of breath, he maneuvered himself so that he was sitting on the bed edge facing the windows.
Cyndi got up with a languid stretch and disappeared into the bathroom. Seconds later we could hear the shower running. He probably wouldn’t mind one himself, or better still, to join her in hers. He can wait his turn.
It dawned on him that his wrists were still locked behind his back, and that the lime green handcuffs weren’t budging.
“Take these off, kitten?” he called, finally remembering that there might have been someone else in the room.
But all he heard was the click of the latch as the door closed behind me.
***
The flight was on schedule. I adjusted the headset and observed the waning moon through the window, calculating how long it had taken him to put the moves on Cyndi once she had reclaimed her knickers.
He would have already learned that Cyndi wouldn’t come across for him on his own, but he would probably never learn that I was the price for her participation.
He would have no clue of how much tactile appreciation Cyndi lavished on my perfect handful-plus as I butterfly tongued her slit into avid readiness in the clandestine moments before his knock at the door.
He would never know that I was meeting her the following weekend to pick up where she and I had left off. Just the two of us.
Only after several time zones had been crossed did I allow the music to give way to the syllable wrenched from him during his climactic throes.
It was too late, of course. But that didn’t mean Vanilla Girl couldn’t rearrange the blanket about lap and shoulders and engage in some covert, torrid reminiscing.
