I pushed my bottom into his groin.
He groaned. ‘I want you, Rachel.’
‘Then take me.’
‘Soon.’
‘Now,’ I begged.
He shook his head. ‘You make me too crazy. I won’t be able to hold, so first …’
He slid under the covers and showed me another form of French kissing. The tongue that had been so expert in my mouth proved equally adept on my clit. As he dragged my folds this way and that, I decided then and there that I could quite happily marry the man.
After he’d made me scream, he hauled me out of bed and plonked me on top of his chest of drawers, before turning away to put on another condom. I saw the wild look in his eyes when he turned back round. Roughly he spread my thighs; I braced myself. He shoved his cock in and pumped away in a frenzy. I wrapped my legs around his waist and clung to him until he came.
In the morning, I sat at his kitchen table dressed in one of his thick woollen jumpers while he prepared breakfast. Coffee mixed with the smell of wood smoke. I watched him squeeze oranges and spoon jam into a bowl. My mountain man was actually quite domesticated.
He placed a plate of croissants in front of me. ‘Happy, Rachel?’
‘Very.’
Over breakfast we talked of our lives, carefully picking our way around the idea of a possible future. I hadn’t told him as much yet, but the prospect of me moving to France wasn’t out of the question. One weekend clearly wasn’t going to be enough. I had a feeling I’d be coming over here on a fairly regular basis for some more French kissing.
The snow on his balcony was several feet deep and it was still coming down hard.
He saw me looking at it. ‘I think we’re stuck here,’ he said.
‘So what will we do all day?’
His eyes sparkled. ‘I don’t know. Do you have any suggestions?’
I had a lot of suggestions. In fact the prospects seemed endless. I leant across and kissed him urgently.
He gave a soft laugh. ‘Encore?’ Then he turned off the coffee maker and led me back to bed.
An Argentinean Tango
by Troy Seate
Jacob Smiley sat at a small table in the heart of Buenos Aires. Before him, men and women twirled and whirled to the heartfelt rhythms of the Tango. He found the exotic Argentinean dance only a step away from fucking. As far as earthly pleasures, there was almost nothing like the sight of bare, shapely legs in high heels to shovel more coal into his boiler. Those little Latin bastards can do a seduction number that Gringos could take a lesson from, he mused, doing everything he could to take his mind off his problem, trying to succumb to the seductive music and the bare thighs whipping around the legs of male partners.
Only a few days earlier he had celebrated the moon landing touch-down in the manner that he liked to celebrate all aerospace accomplishments: He had fucked a secretary on his boss’s desk.
‘Your lift-off was fab,’ the secretary had told him. ‘And your rocket propulsion packed plenty of thrust per square inch.’
‘That’s what they pay us for – to get our ships off the launching pad and into the unknown.’
Janice had climbed off the desk and straightened her skirt. ‘You can shoot your rocket off in my direction any time, Smiley.’
Smiley watched her wiggle toward the door. ‘Don’t forget these, sugar.’ He held up her bikini panties and twirled them around his finger.
‘Keep them to remind you of me,’ Janice said. ‘They’re the first I’ve given away since I threw a pair at Elvis. See you around, JS.’ She left the room wearing a coquettish smile instead of underwear.
‘Same bat-time, same bat-channel,’ Jake called to her.
God, but these were great times. It had taken two years, but the summer of love – in attitude if not in dress – had finally infiltrated even a tight-ass outfit like NASA. It was as close to a James Bond lifestyle as Smiley would ever get and he savoured the rewards. Space launches, security clearances, cool cars, and hot chicks. You didn’t have to be an astronaut to get plenty of action. In his high-profile position, he sometimes even fancied himself as James Bond’s Yankee cousin, particularly when there were women who practically pulled up their skirts and said, ‘Here it is,’ like Janice. Once, he’d been the recipient of a masterful blowjob at his open workspace without detection from a hot little number who worked in Security. But an office provided less risk, and what better office than the one belonging to the big cheese. Hugh Hefner might have his mansion full of bunnies, but those in the space program had nothing to complain about. The celebrity of being a part of Mission Control in Houston brought the local girls bunny-hopping.
The astronauts were safely off the surface of the moon. Smiley’s job was done for the time being. After lift-off and touch-down with Janice had been successful, he had turned his attention to the sojourn to Argentina. NASA had sent him to Buenos Aires for a conference about space flight. The moon landings had turned even the technicians into high-profile, sought-after personages. Still, it could have been a boring week if not for Tango watching and the parties.
Everyone in the space program had secrets. Even those they kept from themselves. Jake was no exception, and secrets were how he had gotten himself into a fix. He’d met Rosalina at a party thrown by no less than the Russian Ambassador to Argentina at a plush residence on the outskirts of the city. Jake knew the party would be the kind that ambassadors liked to throw – lots of waiters, plenty of beautiful ladies, and a night that held possibilities for a mid-level celebrity. Mental breaks from Mission Control were like pages in an unfinished novel – the next page waiting to be written – a world in which he could have a tryst that would be no more romantic than a five-minuet carwash, or as awe inspiring as falling in love.
Any number of sweet young things of every nationality grazed around the mansion chattering and fizzing like opened, inexhaustible bottles of champagne. But the woman who caught Smiley’s eye stood alone on a huge deck that overlooked the lights of the majestic South American city. His eyes fixed on her face, slid down her body and then climbed up again completing the inventory. She looked like a forties movie star with her raven hair, her heavily mascara-laden eyes and two-toned eye shadow. Her hands were dramatically posed on the railing as she seemed to study the flickering of city lights that offset the glow of the quarter moon.
He made a beeline toward the vacant space beside her. She glanced at him suspiciously as smoke from a Virginia Slims leaked from her nostrils and one corner of her mouth. As their eyes met, he could feel his nerve endings sizzle.
‘Just room for one more,’ Smiley said.
She looked at Smiley more closely, searching for something she couldn’t seem to find, appraising him. Finally, she said, ‘So, can you see this doodad in the sky at night?’
Smiley turned his gaze to the pinpoints of twinkling light. Due to his line of work, he appraised the heavens often. On this night the stars were as bright as ice chips flung across the sky. ‘Afraid not,’ he answered. ‘That doodad is orbiting the moon. It won’t be headed home for a while yet.’
She cocked an eyebrow. ‘Are you someone of importance?’ Her accent was heavy. She sounded like Natasha on The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show, but her looks and figure were stunning.
‘I’d like to think so,’ Smiley said. ‘And how about you? A Russian spy here to steal all our space secrets?’
She smiled at that. ‘How did you guess?’
‘Maybe by the cut of your jib – the skirt slit up one side and the sleeveless, oriental-style top. Very Tokyo Rose. Or Mata Hari, perhaps.’
‘So you’ve found me out. Aren’t you the clever one? Perhaps if you get me a drink, I’ll let you tell me about yourself and your secrets.’
‘The name’s Smiley. Jacob Smiley,’ he said with just a hint of a smile, trying to be as mysterious as she.
The events were exceeding Smiley’s expectations. Back home in Houston, he’d make the rounds with the cute cowgirls and look for one
that could be cut out of the herd for a ride in his phallic-shaped XK-E convertible. And later, he’d offer to provide a tour of his bachelor digs with its impressive spacecraft models and pictures complete with a photo of him shaking hands with the President. But this exotic bird’s company suited him just fine because he liked the enigmatic. If she were Cat Woman, he’d be happy to play Batman. It would be a refreshing change from country-western.
Rosalina Lapierre, at least that’s what she called herself, said little but beguiled Smiley just the same. He wandered into her universe like a passing asteroid captured by gravitational pull into her orbit, for one night at least. She had no interest in a moonlit stroll, but after two dozen martinis between them, she did agree to accompany him back to his hotel.
The mansion was in full swing when Smiley escorted Rosalina from the party. They trundled down the steps to the first in a line of waiting automobiles provided for guests. Before climbing into the backseat with his new companion, he looked into his bread-and-butter sky. He gazed at the quarter moon, curved like a shepherd’s crook, and thought about the man circling it and the men on its surface. Their adventure was world news, but his adventure with Mata Hari forecasted earthbound delights. And upon this blue bauble where humans resided, Smiley was anxious to fill in unwritten script.
For most of the drive, Rosalina had smoked in voluptuous silence which added to her mystique. The couple was dropped off in front of Smiley’s hotel. Inside his suite was a bottle of expensive champagne. He popped the cork and made a toast to space travel and beautiful women.
‘Jacob Smiley.’ Rosalina said his name slowly as if she were seeing how the words tasted inside her mouth.
Smiley knew exactly what would look best in her mouth. Something far tastier than those long feminine cigarettes she had a thing for, or good champagne. ‘All my friends settle for Smiley.’
‘Whatever you want, Mr Important Man.’ As she stood before him, one thigh peeking out of the slit in her dress, he could almost picture her gorgeous, naked body displaying two perforations across her midsection from staples in a Playboy Magazine gatefold.
‘Nice suite they gave you, Smiley,’ she said.
‘You want music and the nickel tour?’ he asked.
‘No, I want you,’ she answered huskily. The cobweb of a kiss clung to his lips – a promise of things to come. She wrapped her arms around his neck. ‘Drink up then show me the bedroom.’ She kissed him again. Her tongue plunged into his mouth and slithered about.
‘Are you Commies all so impetuous?’ he asked, coming up for air, feeling a bit like James Bond himself.
‘Let’s say I like the way you fill out your trousers, much the way you like the slit in my dress. No more talk now, patushkin.’
Rosalina was like an itch Smiley had to scratch. He drained his glass and led her by the hand into the adjoining room. He unzipped the back of her high-necked blouse and unhooked the black brassiere. She turned toward him so he could watch the garments slip over her head to reveal her admirable breasts, young and firm. He led her to the edge of the bed where he undid the skirt and pulled it down over her high heels. Then he locked her against him, his face between her breasts. He nibbled lightly then slid his face down her supple flesh.
Rosalina wore a black garter belt that hitched to her nylons. But beneath the lingerie resided a pert pussy covered in curly blond hair. That seemed strange. Smiley rose and took a closer look at the countenance of his female party-favour. He gripped her hairline and tugged. Beneath the wig of raven hair were curly blond locks, not dissimilar to her pubic hair.
‘Methinks something is amiss, my pretty.’
Rosalina’s come-hither look faded a bit. She shrugged her shoulders.
‘So what’s the real story here, Rosie?’
The woman suddenly lost her foreign accent. It was replaced with a hint of the familiar Texas twang. ‘Several girls were dressed up. I guess you glommed onto me so fast you didn’t notice the others.’
‘Guess not. So you were hired for the party?’
‘Three of us from home. Your boss figured that’d be enough for NASA guys looking for some company. Help keep you away from anything that might embarrass one country or another.’
‘Hookers?’
‘I beg your pardon,’ she said with faux arrogance. ‘A very upscale escort service, thank you.’
For once, Smiley was stumped for a quick quip.
‘I’m taking acting lessons. How did I do, Daaaaling?’
‘Oh, you did fine. What’s your real name? Connie Sue something from Houston?’
‘Close. Tammy Lee from Beaumont.’
‘I kind of liked the idea of an Iron Curtain bitch trying to suck and fuck national secrets out of me.’
‘We can still play. We were hired for the duration and I know you like my looks whether I’m a brunette or a blonde.’
Rosalina/Tammy Lee slipped out of her belt and stockings. Smiley didn’t like getting fooled, but guessed it to be innocent fun and a big “haw-haw” on the part of his big-spending boss who had sent him to South America in the first place. Tammy Lee was still a lot of woman in her own right, even if she wasn’t Natasha or Rosalina, or whoever.
‘OK, let’s play,’ he said.
‘You want I should stay in character or just be myself?’
‘Whichever way you’re the hottest.’
Tammy Lee left the wig off and smiled. She pushed Smiley down on the bed and pulled off his trousers and shorts. ‘I think I can satisfy you better if I’m my little ole self. My, that’s some booster rocket you had in your pocket.’
Smiley smiled at the golden triangle between Tammy Lee’s thighs and gave it a kiss. With the Natasha bit behind her, she giggled like a good ole Texas gal rather than a Russian spy. ‘You know, a hard cock sort of looks like a rocket with its passenger cone sitting on top,’ she said teasingly. ‘Maybe you should paint USA on your shaft.’ She bent over so her tongue could do to his cock what it had done in his mouth – darted and probed. First, it teased the cone’s slit then the helmet’s rim. His cock became her lollipop and her vagina his honey pot. James Bond would be proud, he had thought.
‘I have a condom. You can take off into the wild blue yonder, but you need to keep your little men in their capsule.’ Tammy Lee opened the package and efficiently rolled the rubber down Jake’s cock. Then she mounted him like so many cowgirls had done before. Like she’d dropped a quarter into the slot of the little wooden horse outside of a Woolworth’s, she started her gallop.
‘You gettin’ over the fact that I’m no more than some hot Texas stuff?’
‘No problem,’ Smiley groaned. ‘We all wear masks of some kind.’
‘Besides, everything from Texas is bigger and better.’ She lifted her bouncing tits to prove her point.
Smiley had no objections. Tammy Lee’s wild pink yonder of a pussy felt more than county-fried chicken fine. She was one of the best, if not the best, pieces of tail he’d ever had – a semi-pro all-American, schooled in the fine art of giving men pleasure.
After his first orgasm, Tammy Lee climbed off so that the swimming little men in the rubber capsule could be captured and tossed aside to fend for themselves. She held out a hand and pulled him off the bed.
‘Dance with me. You said you liked the local stuff. Let’s try it.’ Tammy Lee wrapped her bare legs around Smiley’s waist. He bent her back toward the floor as if they were a couple of naked dance-partners doing the Tango, sort of. She took time out for another cigarette and to refill their champagne glasses, but soon returned to the task of nurturing Jake’s phallus. Smiley went at her doggie-style for their next coupling.
‘Girls want to be ridden, Spaceman, whether they admit it or not,’ she said over her shoulder.
Smiley rode Tammy Lee long enough for the cows to come home, but the drinks were finally taking their toll. After he pulled out of his partner’s wiggly cunt, he dropped onto his bed feeling a bit out of it.
‘Didn’t mean to
wear you out, but I think we’re both getting your boss’s money’s worth.’
‘I’ll have to remember to thank him,’ Smiley said groggily.
Tammy Lee led Smiley toward oblivion by dropping back on her knees and giving his cock and balls the old Spic ‘n’ Span cleanup. Her rosy reds attached themselves to the head of his captain like a vacuum cleaner extension. He almost expected her to start humming Deep in the Heart of Texas as she snuggled up against his scrotum, the last thing he would have expected in the land of the Gaucho and the Tango. She gobbled his prick, tongue swirling within gentile sucks. Her head moved up and down on his shaft slowly as its veins thickened and again achieved the hardness of the barrel of a six-shooter. She pulled her rubies back to the tip of his glistening lead pipe and held it like a peeled banana. In no time Smiley filled her mouth with his ejaculate, thick and hot as shaving cream. Some of it bubbled out around her lips like fast-acting Burma Shave.
‘There, buckaroo. You go to sleep now,’ she whispered.
With this delightful spectacle complete, Smiley slipped into Never-Never Land with thoughts of dancing, drinking, and fucking the night away in this love-nest, warm and safe, set to the music of Argentinean guitars.
Smiley had fallen into a deep, trance-like sleep, but not too deep for his subconscious to be titillated by current events. In his dream, he was the astronaut to follow Armstrong out of the Eagle space capsule onto the lunar surface. The landing module was shaped like his XK-E, long and phallic. Like most dreams, there were many bizarre twists. He’d found something miraculous – a moon woman, just like in some tacky fifties sci-fi flick.
She told him he wouldn’t believe how good fucking could be in an atmosphere with only one-third the gravitational pull of earth. No matter that she possessed two heads and four tits. There was only one pussy between her legs and it was covered with blond curlies just like Tammy Lee’s. But before he could take another giant leap for mankind and become the first earthling to fuck a moon woman, his sleep tumbled further into the black void beyond even the moon and its neighbouring blue bauble in the sea of night.
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