A few honks of the horn from the guy behind him foced Thomas back to his driving and the task of getting this young woman to the club. Morgan, with his attitude toward waiting, surely would not be there before the two of them arrived, but Carla didn’t want to take a chance on the punishment for arriving late and making the master wait. She urged Thomas to move along. But she didn’t stop.
Carla’s exploration of her vagina continued. She expended several subtle moans along the way. Stealing a quick glance every so often, she found slipping his hand down to his crotch to adjust the growing problem in his shorts. The more he adjusted, the more pressure she received form watching.
Her fingers migrated from simple caressing to hard core rubbing. Diving deep in her crevice, she frantically rubbed every part of her pussy she could find, from the frog-hair fine bush around her outer lips to the swollen spots deep in her vagina. Faster and with full support, she bucked her hips in rhythm with her grunts. Finally, she couldn’t watch and finger herself at the same time. He was on his own . In the moment of her passionate explosion. He had to pull over.
The car wasn’t the only thing he was pulling. Jerking on his dick through his pants he found his thick, long dick stretching and pulling at his shorts, so much that he gave into his wanton desires and unzipped his pants. She didn’t care that he had stopped, only that she could only see his arm frantically pumping his dick in the front seat. Even with the poor view, seh loved the excitement of watching him. She thought ne needed this. She knew she needed to see it.
The sound of the zipper must have energized Carla as her finger movements intensified to a fever point. Thomas again began to stare in the mirror with a look of amazement on his face. She, too, was amazed that she could move her fingers, all three of them, in and out of her cunt so fast.
“Damn it, I’m coming,” she muttered between gasps for breath.
A flood of fluids gushed from her lips, splashing all around her finger and onto the seats, carpet and upholstery. In one violent motion, she collapsed on the seat in exhaustion.
WItht he show over, he began to pack his dick back into his pants.
“Don’t you dare,” she ordered. “You watched me, now I’m going to watch you.”
Either intrigued or from nervous energy, he retrieved his dick and slowly continued his stroking.
“Slow down. I don’t want you to come too fast.”
He slowed his strokes, but stole a glance at the clock.
“Ten minutes. You’ve got time.”
The slick feeling of his precum covering his dick allowed his hand to move smoothly over his skin. His slightly pungent, but sweet smell surprised her. There was an exciting tension surrounding the act of watching him she couldn’t explain. Nothing had felt this good in a long while.
She likened the feeling to the first time she had sex with a man. Everything she touched felt electric to her, making the guy desirable. Now that Thomas was at her mercy, she began to touch and prod every sensitive part she could find, except his dick. When he looked ass if he could stand no more, she wrapped her warm lips around it, Thomas collapsed against the back of the seat looking embarrassed as he came. The dam had been breached and a flood of cum spurted from his dick with each and every pulse in his body.
“Excellent!” she shouted. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Thomas fixed his trousers and tried to wipe up the evidence with a cloth he kept in the glove box. Carla sat in the back, rubbing her clit for one more orgasm before they met again with Morgan. With all the excitement of watching Thomas, it took only a few seconds.
The drive to the club was uneventful and short, so short that Thomas was still struggling with his clothes and the seat covers when they arrived.
As Carla exited the car, she gave Thomas her usual peck on the cheek. Morgan stood at the door, waiting for the reason of their tardiness. With a small apology and a story about rather difficult traffic, Carla passed the boss on her way into the building.
“Just wait until you hear the real reason,” Carla muttered under her breath .
Chapter Twelve The Secret Sins of Amy
As a child, she used to run wild in the clover, laughing and giggling as she went. I watched her with joyful love in the spirit of a godfather. The fresh face and awkward gait amused me, like watching a newborn colt learning to run in the pastures. Amy was that new breath of life in mine.
It was awkward when I first heard her mother passed away, the solemn voice of her father telling me our one-time competition had met her maker and passed over to greater things. I cherished the offer to help in their daughter’s upbringing, but I knew the pain of living that close to my true love’s offspring would place a measurable toll on my heart. In this life, I could not afford such a trauma.
I did attend her first communion. Those beautiful deep blue eyes captured my attention the second she rolled down the stairs in that brilliantly white dress. Her hair was the color of sunshine and she smelled of fresh air and lilacs in the summer.
The years passed and I found myself visiting her father often. We had long since made our peace over Delila, even to the point of fond remembering sessions of past transgressions between the two of us. The ruined dates, the bickering, and the fervent insults felt childish. The more we laughed about it, the worse we felt.
It was the fall just after Amy had graduated college and the old man and I were enjoying a drink in the parlor by the fire. I thought the cold chill I was feeling were winter winds coming early. The room, a frigid mess even with Amy with us, held no joy. I was glad for that second glass of brandy.
“Father has something to tell you.”
I turned to my friend in quizzical manner for a statement. None came, except an admonition directed at Amy.
“Old goat! Tell him.”
He raised his eyes in my direction, but said nothing. He didn’t need to elaborate more than the glance. He was dying. The long face, the trembling hands, and ghostly frown gave me all that I needed to know.
We sat, sipping brandy for a few minutes, saying nothing. He rocked in the chair as he always did. I sat there, looking out at the room, searching for something to comment on that might break the silly barrier to speaking, but all I saw was the normal items scattered about the room.
With a small sip for courage, I broke the barrier. “At least you will get to see her first. Husbands should get there first.”
He smiled, ready to talk. As we melted into another long evening of remembering, Amy slipped from the room, leaving the old men there to lounge away in idle conversation. With her gone, the conversation turned more serious.
“You must watch after Amy. You are all she has left.”
The thought of caring for such a young thing scared me. I had spent the bulk of my life alone and I finally had resigned myself to a solitary life in the shadows of the family I had always wanted. Now, in the moment of great pain, I found myself with a family thrust upon me.
Not just a family, a family whose only members were adults. Amy had far surpassed the age where she needed a guardian, although, jokingly, I admitted I was rapidly approaching that time when I might need someone to care for me. I agreed to make sure she never wanted for anything.
People were packed in the church so tight I was afraid to put my hands down for fear they would land in someone else’s lap. The music played in the background as the pallbearers carried my dear friend out of the church and placed him in the hearse for that long ride to the cemetery. Amy leaned on my shoulder, crying into my sleeve as she had done on occasion when she was a child.
The cold winds blew across our faces as the preacher said his final words and each of the pallbearers tossed a handful of dirt on the casket. The end had come.
“John,” Amy said to me. “I have something to tell you. I love you.”
In that moment, sitting in her father’s chair, I found my true love, rebuilt and restored in the body of a nubile lady dressed in black. The lady I once wanted was now back in a new form.
“I’ve wanted you since I first saw you naked on the beach in France.” Her words echoed in the room, but I heard little more after that statement.
It was just after she graduated high school. I had given her the present of a summer in France. Her father could ill afford such a thing, but my work had afforded me those luxuries to give to my only love’s daughter. Visiting her for a few days had resulted in an afternoon at the beach. It was all innocent, I thought.
When my mind drifted back to the dilemma at hand, I found myself in the company of a very attractive woman completely devoid of her black dress and under things. Her bronze torso stretched from her shapely legs to the chiseled nape of her neck. There was grace in her walk as she approached me. I couldn’t help but allow my eyes to follow the sexual swaying of her hips as she closed the gap between the two of us. Before I could stop her, Amy was leaning on the arms of the chair with her lips just a breath away, so close her tongue could touch my lips. I stopped breathing.
I tried to stop her hand from lifting mine to her breast, but my body refused. It felt so soft and tender in my hands. Her nipple was so chocolate in color that I thought I could taste her essence on my tongue, even a few inches away. Without any willpower left, I gingerly licked across her nipple and around the edges of her darkest parts.
Subtle impulses rifled through my brain, telling me to take her right there. Other, more logical, thoughts tried to dissuade me from my actions. In the midst of the turmoil erupting in my head, I discovered my other hand was now fingering this lovely woman. She neither objected nor tried to stop the actions, and instead encouraged me on. Wet and gyrating with each motion, this lovely child I once cared for as my own was now using me for her own pleasures.
She leaned in and kissed my lips with the taste of wine still hanging on her breath. The proximity of her body to my hand made all my previous efforts impossible. All I could do was pull her tight to my chest and revel in her being so close after all those years.
She hung on my neck, tongue swishing back and forth in my mouth so much that I lost track of it. My scalp, sensitive to most touches, burned as she twisted her fingers through my curly locks. All down my spine, I felt the electric pulses of my brain alerting my body to this wonderfully exotic attack.
Amy shoved my hand to her firm buttocks and lifted her breasts to my lips. Finally, I could taste the salty flavor and experience the texture of her hardened nipples.
“Oh, yes, John.” There was a familiar ring in her voice, one that echoed from many years ago.
I had just enough room to slide my hands to my lap and undo my trousers. She allowed me more room to slip them to the floor, exposing my dick to the cool air of the parlor. The touch of her hand on my turgid member as she guided it into her awaiting pussy made my heart pause in honor of this moment. I felt cold but excited as I felt every inch of her descent onto my dick. When her ass bottomed out on my legs, she stared at me with her devilishly blue eyes, begging me for the pleasure she needed.
Still connected to me with her eyes, she slowly rose up my cock only to slide down again. Then again, each time a little faster. I finally pulled her close against me, pressing her chest to mine and bucking in rhythm with her motions.
She whispered
fuck me
in my ear as she hastened the pace. I had to hold her tight to keep from losing her. The pummeling and grinding continued for some time. I was amazed at just how long I had lasted.
The first hint of orgasm came from her. A muttering followed several deep breaths. The quickened pace followed her hand squeezing her nipple. I gritted my teeth as my own orgasm was trying to break the dam and flood my body before she could make it.
Then, in one epic flash, our bodies melted together for several undulations and massive spirals of grunts, screams, and profanity before the two of us collapsed from exhaustion. Leaning back in the chair, collapsed upon each other, the two of us dozed for a few minutes before either of us could move or talk.
I bought her father’s house with all the furniture. Many of my friends thought this foolish of me, only staying at the house for one night a year, but a man of my age and means, there was no better investment than this. As Amy would inherit all that I owned, I couldn’t think of a better person to end up with the house than her.
Each year since the funeral, I have spent that night in the comfort of his house, contemplating the years he and I shared a wife, he more physically, and me more in my heart. When the dark shadows filled the rooms, Amy would come, dressed in the same outfit she wore at her father’s funeral. Here, again, we shared a woman, he more emotionally and me physically. Her forward manners consumed me each year with a love and desire I felt for only one other. It was worth every penny I spent on that house.
I often feared she wouldn’t come, especially the year she married. Only a few months before, she had pledged to forsake all others and hold fast to him alone. She never failed me. Even in her honeymoon year, while sitting in that special chair, she came to me, draped in the black dress as always. The moments were magic. The time, divine.