100 Women Volume One

by Lexington Manheim

"Yeah."

  "I'm glad you made it," I said with genuine sincerity. "I'll buzz you in and come meet you in the lobby."

  I glanced at the clock. It was about twenty-five after the hour. She wasn't punctual, but she was there. Her pussy had won out after all. Never underestimate Pussy Power.

  I ducked into the bathroom to check myself in the mirror. I was presentable in the casual but somewhat preppie attire I deemed to be neither too formal nor too stuffy. A few seconds later I was trotting down the hallway toward the elevators. I didn't know whether Annie truly considered this to be a big moment in her life. But it certainly was a monumental one for me.

  When the elevator door opened onto the lobby, I stepped out and got my first look at her. Physically, Annie wasn't anything like what I'd imagined. The confidentiality I promised all volunteers prevents my giving any substantively detailed description. However, Annie was a wholesomely attractive girl with long, straight brown hair and blue eyes. She was thin, but not skinny.

  "Annie?" I said, offering a hand in her direction.

  Her expression was one that suggested, while she probably wasn't astoundingly impressed by my physical appearance, she at least was relieved to see I wasn't a troll. In truth, I'm just over six feet tall, a fit 180 pounds, with sandy blond hair that flies about in even light breezes. For that reason, I tend to keep my hair relatively short, and a bit of gel helps maintain a well-groomed appearance.

  "Troy?" she asked.

  "That's me."

  "Am I too late?" It was obvious she was nervous as she gave my hand a brief and ever-so-light grasp.

  "Not at all. C'mon. Shall I show you the apartment we use? I think you'll find it very nice."

  I led her up to the floor where the apartment was located, keeping up a steady stream of amiable chatter and reassuring her that she was free to turn around and leave whenever she wanted.

  "Okay," was her only response.

  Annie's character was not bold, and it seemed unlikely that this mild mannered wallflower would suggest any definite course of action for anyone at anytime. So I gauged fairly quick that I was going to have to be somewhat dominant with her to move things along. If I was the strong, but gentle leader, she'd be the cooperative follower.

  I opened the door to the apartment and entered first to demonstrate that it was safe to cross the threshold. Her eyes darted to all sides of the room before she stepped through the door. Once inside, she planted herself a foot to the right and stood at semi-attention, awaiting further instructions.

  "The door automatically locks on the outside," I said, demonstrating with a jiggle of the outer doorknob. "But it's always open on this side," I added, closing the door and then immediately re-opening it by turning the non-locking inner knob. There was also a deadbolt lock above the inner doorknob. I chose to leave that unlocked after I closed the door the second time. I didn't want to give the perception that I was locking her in.

  "You live here?" she inquired, checking the place out from her self-assigned sentry post.

  "This is where the sessions are conducted. I think it makes for a more pleasant environment than some stuffy office. Don't you?"

  She shrugged.

  "Would you like a beverage?" I asked, making my way to the kitchen and opening the refrigerator to display the selection of individual serving bottles inside. "I've got juice drinks, soda, iced tea."

  Staying near the door, Annie accepted a cranberry juice cocktail. I brought it to her, and, when she wasn't able to screw the top off the bottle, I offered assistance. She took a sip, pronounced it good, and again awaited further instructions.

  She was in the apartment. She had her drink. Now all I had to do was get her clothes off and grab her snatch. Ah, patience. As the Wicked Witch of the West said, these things must be done delicately. I began the subtle process.

  I invited her to sit, and she chose one of the dining room chairs—probably because the dining room table and chairs were the closest furniture to the door I sat on the opposite side of the table and made small talk. We chatted about the weather—how nice the spring had been, how hot the summer would be. I was careful not to ask about any summer vacation plans. I wasn't fishing for personal information, and I didn't want her to get the impression I was.

  I asked if she was free for the day. Did she need to be somewhere by a certain hour. She said she didn't. I was under no deadline pressure. I could proceed slowly.

  When one of my jokes scored a hit by producing a genuine laugh from her, I felt she was primed for me to ease into business.

  "I'm gonna give you a little info sheet here," I said, retrieving a copy of the information/survey sheet from a nearby shelf. "It basically describes what we've already talked about on the phone. And it has a little survey on the bottom that'll help make this a great experience for you and a scientifically productive one for the research project."

  She took hold of the sheet as though I were handing her a dirty diaper and peered at it with wary eyes. This is undoubtedly where she expected to find the fine print that would cause her to bolt. I remained quiet to allow her to read the page without interruption. I deemed it important she not get the sense I was trying to distract her from anything crucial that might be hidden within the text. Winning her trust was paramount.

  As her eyes scanned down to the bottom of the page where the various sexual practices were listed, I detected a few uncomfortable eye twitches and one noticeable raising of the eyebrows. But there was nothing in her face that suggested she'd been put off She accepted it for the straightforward, frank research aid it was meant to be. I was pleased about that.

  Annie finished reading the page and looked across the table toward me.

  "Any questions?" I asked.

  "Do I have to take my clothes off?"

  It's times like this that one wonders how we find the strength to refrain from screaming the unbelievably obvious. I was tempted to say, "No. I'm sure you'll just love having me finger the outside of your jeans." Instead of making a smart-ass comment, I said, "You don't have to do anything here unless you absolutely want to."

  She had no other questions, so I brought her a pen and asked her to fill out the survey while I went to the kitchen to get myself an iced tea. She made a few quick checkmarks in the top boxes and then slowed as she got toward the middle. I stayed a comfortable distance away to allow her to fill out the survey without feeling as if I was watching over her shoulder. Finally, she made a few rapid-fire checkmarks that I could tell fell into the "dislike" column, and she again looked up at me.

  "All done?"

  "Yeah."

  "Okay." I rubbed my hands together. "Let's go into the living room."

  I invited her to be seated, and she chose to sit in what was the least cushioned chair in the room, with her hands folded across her lap. She remained nervous. Realistically, who could blame her? The standing order had to remain steady as she goes, don't rush it.

  I took the info/survey sheet from her and, without even glancing at it, placed it face down on a nearby coffee table. That was for later. Right now, there were baby steps to be taken. The first step was to touch her. Just touch her. Anywhere.

  I knelt down next to her chair so that her head was higher than mine. Allowing her to look down, literally, on me was one way to give her a feeling of strength that might dispel at least some of the fear.

  "Are you comfortable here?" I asked in a calming tone.

  "Yeah." Her voice was quiet, almost inaudibly meek.

  "Good. If, at any time, anything makes you uncomfortable, you just have to say so and it'll stop…immediately. That's the promise from me to you."

  I emphasized the point ever so slightly by gently patting her hand with mine. It was just a hand, but I was touching her. It was the first touch since the wimpy handshake when we met. She didn't flinch. So far, the touching was all right.

  "Nothing will happen here unless you say it's okay," I continued. "I have to have your permission to do anything. Anything at all. U
nderstand?"

  "Yeah."

  "For example...if I wanted to take my hand that's currently resting on yours and move it to, say, your tummy—I'd first have to ask permission. And then, only if you said it was okay, could I do that. See how it works?"

  "Yeah."

  "Okay then. Let's try it. I'm asking your permission now. May I please put my hand on your tummy? Just right here on top of your shirt." I clarified the request by patting my own stomach to indicate the exact location. "May I do that?"

  Annie's lips were dry. She gave them a quick lick to moisten them and quietly uttered, "Okay."

  Slowly, I lifted my hand from her hand and placed it delicately on her stomach.

  She looked at the hand resting on her belly and expelled a little puff of breath. As if hypnotized, she watched my hand riding slightly up and down on her midsection as her belly expanded and contracted with her breathing. She made no sound nor gave any indication that she was ready to call this off. I proceeded at the proverbial snail's pace, but I was making progress.

  "That okay?"

  She nodded.

  "Does my hand feel warm there?"

  She nodded again.

  "Too warm?"

  "No. Don't you need that paper?" she asked, pointing at the info/survey sheet resting face down on the coffee table.

  "Later," I replied, with matter-of-fact nonchalance. "Nothing that's on that sheet is going to happen now. So I don't need it." I wanted her to have the assurance that she could give further permissions at this early stage without fear of it progressing too far too fast.

  "I'm going to ask for another permission now," I continued. "May I softly rub your belly with my hand?"

  She looked down at her midsection and consented with a whisper. "Okay."

  Again, very slowly, I began to move my hand in a soft petting fashion over her stomach. She was still fully dressed, and my hand felt only the fabric of her shirt. Still, I could see in her face that she didn't dislike the feeling of her belly being stroked.

  "That feels good, doesn't it?" I asked in a way that was more a statement than a question.

  She just nodded her head as she watched my hand move back and forth over her shirt. I let the soft pads of my fingers sometimes dance a bit as they crept over her midsection. Then, during one stroke in the direction away from me, I allowed the fingers to curl under to let the back of the digits glide over her belly. I sensed a slight tensing in her body, but not a bad tensing. This was her body's reaction to sensual touch. On her lips, I saw the first hint of a smile.

  "You like that, don't you?"

  Annie looked at me. She knew she'd been caught smiling. She became self conscious and immediately cast her eyes downward and forced the smile to disappear.

  "Why are you trying to hide your smile?" I cooed, sounding a bit like a young boy with puppy love. "C'mon. Don't be afraid to show that pretty smile."

  Annie's resistance cracked and, sheepishly, her lips parted into a subtle smile.

  "Very pretty," I said, looking her directly in the eye and showing her a smile of my own.

  "Thank you," she said.

  Things were going well.

  "May I move my hand down a little? Just to your belt."

  "Okay."

  I slid my hand down to her belt line. My fingers rested directly on the belt she was wearing around the waist of her jeans. I knew she couldn't feel my touch through the belt. Still, it was further progress.

  "There. My fingers are on your belt now. They're stroking your belt. You can't feel them now, can you?"

  She shook her head to indicate she could not feel the fingers.

  "May I move them down another inch so you can feel them again? Just another inch. Or maybe two?"

  "Okay."

  The tips of my fingers crept down below the belt and worked their way to the jeans right above her pubic area.

  "There they are," I said as my fingers glided back and forth just below her belt line. "They're back again where you can feel them. Does it still feel nice?"

  "Yeah."

  The slow, downward game of "May I?" continued until finally my hand was rubbing the part of her jeans covering her crotch. Annie was no longer watching, though. She had her head back and her eyes closed, and she was taking relatively deep breaths.

  "You like a man's touch there?" I ventured, in the most sensually breathy voice I could muster.

  "Yeah."

  "You like a man's touch over the jeans?"

  "Yeah."

  Time to play the trump card. "Do you like a man's touch under the jeans?"

  She didn't miss a beat. "Yeah," she said, without opening her eyes.

  "May I put my hand inside the jeans?"

  "Okay."

  Careful not to make any sudden jolts, I took hold of the zipper on her fly and slowly zipped it down. Then I eased my hand inside the fly and felt the smooth panties beneath. I could also feel her uncropped pubic hairs under the fabric. Annie didn't shave her pussy. At least, she didn't shave away most of the hairy triangle within the bikini line.

  She made an almost imperceptible sigh as my fingers ever so slightly massaged her groin. Through the panties, I could feel the topmost part of her labia, and the moisture of her lubricant was starting to seep through. I continued this until I felt Annie shift her hips a bit. She rocked her pelvis up and lifted herself on her toes. I could see what she was doing. She was trying to give me more room to move my hand down lower.

  "It would be easier if you took the pants off," I whispered.

  As though a doctor had just asked her to disrobe for an exam, she slid off her shoes and began to unbuckle her belt. I took my hand out of her crotch and gave her room to slide the pants off while I reached for the info/survey sheet to see what she had checked for likes and dislikes. In the few seconds that I studied her survey answers, Annie had her pants off and lying on the floor beside her. She sat her panty-clad butt back down in the same chair.

  "The couch might be more comfortable," I suggested.

  Without a word, Annie allowed me to guide her up out of the chair and lead her the few steps to the couch. She chose a place on the end, sat down, closed her eyes, and laid her head on the soft cushioned back of the furniture. The expression on her face and the positioning of her body made it look as though she was following the routine of a gynecological exam. I sat down beside her.

  "May I continue where I left off?"

  She said, "Okay," and I put my hand directly on her crotch. Now, with the stiff, denim jeans out of the way, I had much more freedom to work the space between her legs. Her labia had room to breathe now, and I felt her lips part most readily beneath the panties, which were more wet than I had realized. It didn't take long before I requested the next obvious permission.

  "May I put my hand inside the panties?"

  "Yes," came the almost immediate response.

  I slid my hand over the top of the waistband, and down I slithered through her forest and into her swamp. She gave a momentary shiver as my middle finger parted her pussy's lips and rubbed up against her most sensitive terrain. I saw her feet inching a little farther from each other.

  With my free hand, I tugged at the waistband of her panties. "Do you really want to be wearing these? May I take them off you?"

  Rather than speaking, Annie just planted her feet firmly on the floor and lifted her backside up off the couch, holding a ready position as a nonverbal invitation. I grasped the panties on both sides of the waist and gracefully pulled them down to Annie's knees. She dropped her ass back to the couch and lifted her legs up so that I might complete the process of rendering her bottomless. I slid the panties off her feet and ceremoniously placed them atop the formerly discarded jeans. Annie, who had kept her eyes closed during the whole time on the couch, now opened her eyes and looked directly at her own crotch as if to reassure herself this was really happening.

  Yes, it’s true, dear Annie. Here you are. Bare from the waist down. Spreading your legs and offering
up your naked, hairy pussy to a man you met less than a half-hour ago. Had she checked the like box for dirty talk, I'd have actually said that. But, as it was, her survey response indicated she didn't like dirty talk. However, she did indicate that she liked having her nipples sucked, and I was more than willing to accommodate. But that meant Annie wasn't finished stripping yet.

  I turned on the couch, tucking one leg under the other, so that I was facing her. She again closed her eyes and laid her head back. She further parted her legs and cocked her hips to turn her pussy upward. How delicious it was to feel the wetness of her liberated vagina lubricating my hand. The steamy warmth of her snatch was inviting. I dove in with one finger and then two, rubbing the inside of her love hole with strong, hard strokes designed to drive her clit wild. She moaned each time my fingers curled up inside her, and she rocked her pelvis in and out to accelerate the rhythm of my masturbating fingers.

  I had to do a bit of shifting myself, to make room in my pants for my dick, which, quite naturally, had become very hard. She had her eyes closed, so, since she wasn't watching, I grabbed my crotch with my free hand and yanked my cock to a more comfortable position.

  Annie's pussy was now so wet that my fingers made a sloshing sound as they went in and out. A few moments later, Annie started making rhythmic, guttural grunts. It was about to happen. I was about to give my first orgasm of the project. Annie was about to come.

  And did she ever! It was like a seizure of bliss. Her body convulsed and flopped around on my undulating hand like a fish caught on a hook. Meanwhile, her toes splayed wide, her fingers clutched at the couch cushions behind her head, and her mouth emitted something I can only compare to wild animal noises. Annie had a massive orgasm that rocked her world.

  As the tidal wave of ecstasy subsided into ripples of pleasure, she relaxed her body and breathed deeply. I left my hand right where it was, holding it in place, and waiting for the moment to start again. I could sense that Annie had another monster orgasm in her, and I planned to get it.