Unwrapping Wet Amber

by Kamilla Murphy

  No sex dreams that night.

  Two days later, when I had the afternoon off from my real job, I called Lana to see if the condo was clear and I booked two more appointments. I was nervous when the first guy’s uber-eagerness reminded me too much of Dave, my troubled complainant. He turned out okay though. He ended up polite and had a good cock. He wanted me on top and I complied. He went crazy over my bouncing tits hovering over him. It didn’t take him long to cum. Amazingly, he stayed hard, so I let him do me again, with a fresh condom and a fresh position. He paid me well for my “time and companionship” after all, right?

  The second man was grey-haired and close to, if not over sixty. His florid complexion spelled Viagra. His supremely stiff erection confirmed it. All the while he screwed me, repeating “Oh you’re beautiful” about a hundred times, I had visions of him keeling over from a heart attack, wondering what I’d do? I knew the guy came, yet he still pumped away. Was he trying to reaffirm his virility, or trying to get me off? I faked a good orgasm with my best throaty scream. He went away happy, and thankfully still alive to tell all his cribbage buddies.

  I didn’t have time for another customer, but I checked my voice mail messages anyway. Amidst the usual I was surprised to hear my new detective friend’s deep voice, asking how I was, wanting me to call him. I remained wary, but admitted I was intrigued by the big, handsome man. How would a date with him hurt anyway? Maybe a friendship with Flip could be beneficial, keeping me out of trouble from his fellow cops, insulating me somewhat.

  When I called him, he said, “You give up your second job yet?”

  I told him I was thinking about it, and thanked him again for his concern. We spoke for a while, small talk really, hovering around the main theme like a teen boy hovering around his crush building up enough courage to ask her to the prom. Finally, I let him off the hook.

  “You want to see me, Detective?” I asked.

  “Sure I would… how much?” I got pissed at that and told him so. He chuckled, and said, “I’m sorry… poor joke. What I’m asking is how expensive the restaurant will be that I take you to.”

  “You okay spending money on a married lady?”

  “A very beautiful and sexy married lady—that would be a ‘yes’. And besides, I have the feeling we wouldn’t be having this conversation if the married lady weren’t interested in meeting new people, since she… ahem… has been meeting a lot of new people lately.”

  I picked the restaurant—one I knew to be nice, and where the chance of running into someone I knew was small—and he picked the time. Screw Danny, I thought, I’ll tell him I’m out with friends and to hell with anything else.

  Our dinner was marvelous. I didn’t think it would be a good idea under the circumstances to wear something too provocative so my dress and jewelry were conservative to a fault. Flip seemed to like it. Throughout the meal, his eyes rarely strayed from me—no, not my tits or my ass or my legs—ME. Maybe it was his detective’s training, but I loved the visual attention anyway. It’d been years since Danny looked at me quite that way. Even though my pussy was still a little sore, I was wetting my panties watching him watch me. I didn’t really know if my intention was to shock him or to seduce him, but I said it anyway.

  I leaned over the table, closer to him, and whispered, “Would you like me for dessert?”

  His eyes betrayed nothing. “You are quite the woman,” he said, which never answered my question.

  In his car, he said, “I pegged you wrong. I thought you’d be just like the other housewives I’ve busted; the last resort to making money and hating every minute of it.” He glanced over to me quickly while he drove, then went back to concentrating on the road. “The money may have been the driving force but you love it as much for the sex as anything, am I right?”

  I didn’t answer, leaving his dead-on analysis hanging.

  After a few moments of silence, he said, “You know, I think I’ll skip dessert for tonight. I would love to see you again, maybe dancing, I don’t know, maybe dinner again. I don’t know what’s going on with you at home… your marriage… that shit, but I like you… I’m attracted to you more than I’ve felt with any woman in a long time. I don’t mind admitting it; I’m pretty candid… don’t keep much in… you’ll see if we get to know each other better, but I don’t like the escort shit. You’re playing with fire, and sooner or later some asshole is gonna hurt you…bad. I’ve seen it too many times. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “You trying to rescue me, like some stray puppy?” I said, perhaps a little angry at him.

  He shook his head slowly, as if he were a parent disappointed in a wayward child’s behavior. “Yeah, I guess that’s it. Like a fuckin’ puppy. Don’t want you to end up in a damn pound.” Maybe he’s angry too. He muttered something else though I didn’t hear it all over the road noise—sounded like “or in the fucking morgue,” but I wasn’t sure.

  When he dropped me off at my car, I told him, “You’re quite the man, you know.” We kissed. He was restrained but some of his passion came through, like stray sparks conducting through the tip of his tongue. I told him I’d be good, and I definitely wanted to see him again.

  My pent-up and unsatisfied sexual hunger had me ready to pounce on Danny and let him be the beneficiary of Flip’s rebuff. One look at my husband and I couldn’t do it. My marriage for all intents was over. I felt no zing, no spark, no interest in the man I’ve shared my bed with. I diddled myself in the shower, fantasizing that the big cop was behind me, touching me, entering me, until an immense contraction overwhelmed my body. I did everything I could not to scream at the top of my lungs, exhilarated by the incredible orgasm sweeping through my body in waves of pure heaven. Because of my self-control I don’t think Danny heard me.

  I didn’t use the condo for almost a week. Checking my voice-mail, I found many inquiries but no call from Flip. What did I expect? That he’d be obsessed with me or something? I forgot about the detective and began making phone calls and setting up a schedule. One of the messages was from Larry, the nice guy with the good cock who had gotten me off, looking for an appointment next week. I’d be sure to call him and say yes.

  By the time I finished my day, I was several hundreds richer and several degrees sorer. I’d done it in just about every position—doggie, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl; you name it I did it—with a couple of facials thrown in for good measure. Whatever service it took outside of anal to please my customers I performed. I earned that money, along with two orgasms. I wondered how many call girls actually came while working. Was I different like Flip seemed to think I was? Flip—there he was, on my mind again. Damn him, I thought, he better call.

  It wasn’t until the following week, after I’d had a great session with Larry (two orgasms!), that Flip called. He wanted another date. I said yes in a heartbeat.

  We met like last time and drove to the next town over, to a restaurant I’d never heard of. “My kind of place,” he said with a chuckle.

  It turned out to be a sports bar of sorts, with all the big-screen TVs any sports junkie would desire. The place was clean and not seedy as I imagined it would be. The menu was beer, burgers, sandwiches and buffalo wings. I was glad I hadn’t worn a dress with pearls as I almost had.

  “Why here? Your favorite hang-out?” I asked, looking around to see if I could spot off duty cops among the clientele.

  “Naw. I didn’t want to miss the basketball game,” he said. It was hard for me to assess his smile and tell how facetious that had been.

  He had a beer and a large order of hot wings. I guess he wasn’t the self-conscious type, who would worry about kisses and breath later. I had more than one beer, and a big, bacon cheeseburger with onions and the works. I wouldn’t worry about kisses and bad breath either. The beer loosened me up after a while. Maybe it was my company that eventually loosened him up but that was hard to tell with his reserved personality. Our small talk grew more personal as we revealed new things to each other.
I admitted that I was still seeing men and that disappointed him. He didn’t scold me as I thought he would.

  As we walked to his car, he asked me if he could show me his apartment. I knew that it wasn’t the apartment he wanted to show me. I told him I’d love to.

  “You’re going to let me rescue you?”

  It took me a few seconds to remember our conversation after the first date. I laughed and said, “Bow-wow,” and stuck my tongue out and panted like a winded pooch.

  His laugh was the most human and less reserved thing I’d seen from him since we met.

  His apartment was clean yet spartan and about what I expected from a divorced man. He pulled a couple of beer bottles from his fridge and offered me one. He flicked on the TV to the same basketball game that’d been on in the bar, and we sat on his sofa.

  “So, Dee, did you give hubby a good story on where you’d be tonight?” he asked. “Can the stray puppy stay out late?”

  “No worry, though I’m feeling more like a pussy cat tonight than a puppy,” I said, then made a purring sound.

  Small talk and our beers were merely pretext for that first kiss. For a man of little overt emotions he sure was a great kisser. Our tongues dueled for many minutes until we both had to stop and breathe. Being this close to him I felt his strength. My nipples hummed like a high-tension wire from rubbing against his muscled chest, even though they were safely ensconced within my bra and blouse. His arms were around me and his hands didn’t stray. I began willing them to explore; I wanted his strong hands to find my erogenous zones, and fast.

  In a hoarse voice, I croaked, “Take me… take me, please!”

  He looked into my eyes and in silence began unbuttoning my blouse. After he unclasped my bra, his lips went to one of my willing nipples, a hand to the other.

  “Oh…Flip…I need it…oooooooooooooooooh,” I moaned.

  Before he could make an attempt, I started unfastening my jeans and pulled them part of the way down. He nibbled and sucked on a nipple while I kicked my jeans aside and began working on removing his shirt. We were in awkward positions but still managed to eventually get each other down to undies. The bulge in his boxers held lots of promise.

  When he slipped a hand inside my panties he gasped. “My God, Dee, you’re soaked!”

  I murmured, “I told you I wanted you. Did you think I was faking?”

  “No, I don’t think you fake anything.” His fingers probed further, searching for the source of my sexual fountain.

  Oh YES, he found it!

  Stroking me with his fingers and massaging my clit were needless foreplay. While he played with me, I worked his boxers down and freed his cock. His manhood was supremely correlated with the rest of his physique. Tall, muscled, hard yet smooth, I played my hand over its length. I thought, this will fill me well, and then his touch, our heat and my anticipation got the better of me and I moaned loudly.

  “Here, now, do me… don’t play anymore… now, now,” I warbled.

  He kicked his boxers from around his ankles and sat on the sofa. He then pulled me atop him so I was on his lap and our lips came together, my tits nestled warmly against his muscled and well-defined pecs. He wasn’t in a hurry but I was. I grabbed his erection and impaled myself on it. I expected ‘oomph’ yet I was still surprised to have it escape my lips aloud. “Oooomph,” I’d yelped as his cock filled me to its hilt and punched at the opening to my womb.

  “Dee, baby. You don’t waste time, do you?”

  “Shut up and fuck me,” I muttered. He wasn’t fucking me exactly—I was fucking him. I danced on his flesh-pole, up and down, up and down, while he sat there and held onto me. My nipples hardened and ached as they rubbed against him. I felt the first stirrings of climax.

  He didn’t let me speed down that exit ramp just yet, as he said, “Baby, let me do some of the work.” He managed to stand, still holding me, his cock still buried within me.

  He carried me to his bedroom like that and gently lowered me to his bed. I opened my legs wide for him and he climbed on top and immediately thrust back into my wet and willing vagina. He was now in control and he exercised that control to perfection.

  He alternated between long and short thrusts, first riding low and then high to get at my g-spot. My hips rocked and thrust in hungry harmony with his. My mind was a kaleidoscope; colors intensifying as I closed in on the Big One. I knew he was fast approaching his climax but I wasn’t worried about being left behind.

  “Oh…oh…oh…yes…yes, oh…yes…YES…OH…YES!” I sang as my vagina muscled clamped down on his beautiful cock in mid-thrust in the most exhilarating of contractions. Every tissue of my body pulsed in wave after wave of wonderful agony, beginning at my core and radiating outward like the warm rays of the sun. Then the tension released and I gasped, “Goddddddddddddddd,” as the burning sun within me went supernova.

  Flip was a silent lover, and only groaned, “Ohhhhhhhhh,” as he ejaculated deep within me.

  Only now as we basked in the glow of our orgasms did I study his body. The man was indeed a marvelous specimen. I’d never been with a man so buff, with such an amazing muscular physique. I had no thought of safe sex, fucking him bareback. I didn’t care. “I don’t think I’m done,” I whispered. “Can you…?”

  Hot damn! He could! With only a little help from my hands and lips he was hard again. I got onto my hands and knees on the bed and positioned myself so I could see my reflection in the dresser mirror. I wanted to see his magnificent body in action. He got behind me and slid effortlessly in. I watched his muscles flex as he slowly pumped into me. I watched his ass cheeks flex on each long thrust. I watched, hypnotized, as my ass thrust back and upward to take him. I watched his shimmering wet cock go in and out, in and out. I watched his thigh muscles tighten as he began to pump faster. I watched him close his eyes and throw his head back, enjoying the moment. I watched the sweat pool and drip from his buff body. Oh God, I was cumming already!

  As I cried out, he spasmed a couple of final thrusts and yelled, “Ohhhhhh, Deeeeeeee!”

  I never in my life had so much spent cum dripping from my pussy as I did when we were done. We showered together and I secretly wished he could get it up one more time so he could do me in there.

  “I want you again,” I confessed.

  “I want you forever,” he professed.

  Was this a forever thing? As he drove me to my car we made plans for future dates. I didn’t know where this budding relationship would lead, but I was ready and willing to give it a try. Now, would I be willing to give up my newfound ‘career’ as a call girl?

  As the days progressed, the answer appeared to be NO. I kept making appointments and screwed the lights out of every man who paid me. It turned out I never had to place another posting on Backpage; there was so much word of mouth on my ‘services’ that my number was probably on every men’s room wall in every bar in town. Many were repeat customers like Larry who I’d send home smiling (and more often than not I’d be smiling too, if you know what I mean). After all, as Flip so accurately pointed out, it wasn’t all about the money.

  My new detective friend didn’t like it I was staying in business, but not enough of a dislike that he stopped being my fuck buddy.

  “Hi, Francis, I mean, Detective, sir,” I said over my cell phone. “I know a woman who has a stray pussy cat that needs rescuing. Are you the right person to talk to?” Oh yes, my well-used pussy cat would still love to shelter his splendid manhood tonight. “Purrrrrrrrrrr,” I sang to him.

  Later in the week I’d sing “Ka-ching!” My other favorite melody.

  Kamilla Murphy is the author of novels “Watching January” and “The Missionary Position” as well as novellas “Sailing to Ecstasy,” “The Magistrate’s Witches” and “The Survivalist” along with other works of erotic fiction. She’s a professional, wife and mother of two great teens living in northeastern Massachusetts, hard at work on a new novel.

  You can e-mail her at kamillamurph@yahoo.
com to let her know what you think.

  (Pay attention now! There’s no “y”!)

  Please visit Amazon’s Kamilla page to find all her books for the Kindle