Carmel does the same with hers then drops it back into the holder. "Okay, going for Italian sounds a good idea."
"Really?" James grips the ends of the towel in a fist at his chest. "I mean, that's cool, I'll meet you out front in half an hour, shall I?"
"Sure, I'll just finish giving my cross trainer some love and I'll be right with you."
Oh, she loves me, how wonderful. My wires tingle, my footplates heat up I can't help but imagine what my lovely lady and James will get up to after their meal.
No doubt he'll ask her back to his place for a coffee, or perhaps hers if he drives her home. The lights will be dim, the scent of her perfume—roses and vanilla—hanging in the air and perhaps soft music playing; nothing too fast and dancey like here, but seductive and soft, something to put them in the mood.
"Would you like a night cap?" she'll ask, but before she even reaches for the bottle of whiskey and the fat-bottomed glasses he'll be up behind her, pulling her into his arms.
A smile of approval tugs at her mouth as she twists. "James?"
"I want you, Carmel. Have done for so long, I can't wait another minute." His eyes flash with daring, knowing the words could be his undoing but unable to help himself. His desire for her luscious curves and to be at one with her is too compelling to resist. He's battled his shyness and is going for what he wants.
After a brief hesitation she says breathily, "Neither can I, you're all I think about."
Their mouths connect, softly at first but then with a sense of urgency; probing tongues, roaming hands, bodies squeezing close.
Her breasts are flattened against his chest, this turns James on all the more. In one quick move he lifts her into the air. His muscles flex as she gasps then giggles, and in several swift strides he has her sprawled on the sofa, laid out, both sacrificial and hungry for him.
Looming above her, he pulls at his belt, yanks at his trousers and boxers.
Carmel drags off her top, kicks away her thin, cotton trousers. Though when James strips off his t-shirt and stands before her naked she stills, licks her lips, and takes in the sight of his big, gym-honed body, hard, erect and ready for action.
But James is doing some staring of his own, Carmel's curves are better than he ever dared hope, more than he dreamed of.
She smiles up at him, stretches her arms out and beckons him into an embrace.
"Let's have another workout," she says.
"The kind that is best done in private," he replies with a naughty grin then kisses her and moves between her open legs.
The sofa is smallish and their bodies fill the cushions, Carmel is using the armrest like a pillow. He looks down at her face, lust and adoration in his eyes, then eases his cock inside her pussy.
Carmel gasps, her toes curl and she tightens her grip on his shoulders. She's been fantasizing about this moment but this is better than her imaginings; so much better.
"Oh, Carmel," he gasps, his features twisting with pleasure; eyes screwed up and biting on his bottom lip.
She doesn't reply, her mouth is slack, her eyes glazed as she concentrates on taking his thick girth.
Finally, after a slow glide, he is fully seated.
She runs her hands through his hair, mixes pleasure with the density of his cock, and realizes this is where she has wanted to be for more months than she can remember.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs. "And you feel amazing."
"So do you," she says, pulling him in for a kiss.
He begins to move, slowly at first, rubbing her clit and filling her with long firm strokes.
But soon she becomes impatient. She twists her legs around his and cants her hips up to meet his thrusts.
This flicks a switch in James and he ups the pace, his big, hard body crashing into her, pumping and grinding. Small dents on the outer curve of his buttocks appear as he plunders on and on. Only one thing is on his mind now and that's satisfaction.
Her demands for more fill the room and his guttural groans and grunts mix with the slapping sound of their now sweaty bodies.
"I'm coming," she gasps. "Don't stop, please, don't stop."
James powers on as she comes apart beneath him. Her bliss-soaked cry tips him over the edge into his own orgasm. He freezes at the hilt. Every toned, bulging muscle a solid, defined mass.
"Ah, ah, yeah," he shouts, giving one urgent final heave into her.
She drags her nails down his back leaving sharp red lines. He quivers and groans. She clasps her hands over his butt cheeks, pulling him deeper.
"Oh, baby," he gasps then finds her mouth for a kiss.
I can imagine their emotions now. A tangle of ecstasy and the joy of having finally given into what has been simmering between them for so long.
All that time I've been in the middle, witnessing their growing attraction, willing them to get together. They're perfect for each other, made to do this. So hot. The perfect type of exercise.
If only they would get a home gym, take me in, move me there so I could watch them for real.
But that will never happen; I have to take what I can.
Oh, look, here comes Sally-Ann walking across the gym in her burgundy gym gear and turning every head with her long black hair and her hour-glass figure. She's great. She's a burlesque dancer and uses me twice a week to keep fit. She has to have stamina to be able to twirl those nipple tassels and shake that cute round tush all night, every night.
I flash my lights, entice her my way and hope that Jimmy, her personal trainer will soon be over to do his usual flirting. Their conversations are raucous, sometimes outrageous.
Yes, there he is, all confident swagger and beefy shoulders. He's got his sexiest smile on and his eyes hold a sparkle that screams sin.
This should be fun.
Bella Buxom, Just Squeeze Me
© JoAnne Kenrick
The buxom beauty gyrates to the smooth jazz tune, her red locks swishing with the movement. And her breasts, shit, I'm unable to take my gaze off her sun-kissed breasts. I can't help but wonder how those sparkly circles stick to her nipples. Glue? Are her nubs red and tender after a show? Oh, I'd love a chance to kiss them better.
"Here's your drink, Charlie." The cute waitress who usually serves on Wednesdays slides a cola and whisky in front of me. "Bella's good tonight, right?" she says, before scurrying to the bar tucked away in the back of London's side-street burlesque club.
"Always is." I call after her.
I down half the drink then snap my attention back to the goddess on stage. I question why I've never had a voluptuous lover. I reckon I'd enjoy spanking a robust bottom and massaging huge tits. Even just gazing upon a curvaceous lass such as this, all wanton and sprawled out on my bed, would be a treat.
Damn, Bella Buxom is fine! Forties pin-up girl perfection, with dips and curves I could happily die for.
The dancer trips over an oversized dildo, bringing her hand to her mouth in a 'oops' gesture. An infectious giggle spreads through the audience, and the bloke behind is hysterical. I turn to offer a scowl in hopes of shaming him into shutting up. But I notice it's Steven, another regular at the place. He's huge, nose crooked like it's been broken. I nod in acknowledgment and decide to deal rather than ask the hulk to shut the hell up. I prefer watching Bella over causing hassle.
She's now acting shocked over the width and length of the adult toy. Ha, this girl is adorable. Such confidence to bare all, well, practically all, while making fun of sex. Not like some cheap stripper. Nope. Her act is tasteful in a playful, smutty kinda way. And she can sing. Bloody hell, can she sing.
Shimmying across the stage, making full comedic use of nearby props, she sings the classy jazz song Just Squeeze Me in seductive tones. The lights dim. A pale-blue spotlight illuminates her, casts shadows over her curves. Her pout is even more seductive now. I'm in awe. Maybe in love. The sweet sounds of her rich, velvet voice wraps around me and takes a hold. Talk about smitten, I feel like a teenager jonesing for my first celebrity cru
sh; Rose McGowan, the red head from Charmed.
She blows kisses...at me? Huh. I'm sure it's me she's flashing her big blues at. Conscious I'm gawking, I glance at my co-workers also here to enjoy the show. Their mouths are open, too.
The red curtain falls and the house lights go up. The audience hoots their delight, but the show is over. No more Bella Buxom for tonight. Boo.
I now have to return to my one-bedroom apartment. Alone.
I grab my coat, say goodbye to my colleagues who are too busy chatting to return my farewells, and leave the club.
Typical British weather greets me at I step onto the street. Drizzle and cold wind. Turning my collar up, I shrink into my coat and begin my walk home. Street lamps barely light my path home, but that's okay. I'm not really watching where I'm going. I'm thinking of her.
I wish I'd never been lured in by the bright lights and the slogan, Where every woman is beautiful. Now all I can think about is Bella and her curves. I exhale. Post Buxom blues. I'm always down after I've seen one of her shows. Like I've just been dumped by email.
All I have to keep me company tonight is my TV and a Red Shoe Diaries DVD box set. And a tube of lube. Ugh, I can't believe I'm resorting to such lows. But, alas, I have to. I can't get her out of my head. Her jazz melody is implanted in me, I can't stop humming the tune. If only I really could squeeze her.
I've gotta release somehow, or getting through work tomorrow will be a bitch.
I slam in a DVD and select my favourite episode before getting comfy on the sofa. I'm wearing boxers. Nothing else. The leather under me sticks to my thighs, but I don't care, because the TV distracts me. It's the episode about a peepshow dancer who cycles through Paris in a pretty summer dress. I imagine Bella Buxom is the one riding the bike, her boobs squished together as she grips the handlebar.
Ugh. Who am I kidding? The lass on the TV is nowhere near as sexy as Bella. I stop the episode and bung in a porno instead. Might as well. Not like I'll be watching, just listening to the girls groaning while pretending they're her.
I squirt a dollop of water-based lube into my palm then smear it over my hard-on. Leaning back, I close my eyelids and I focus on self-administering pleasure and the sweet cries of orgasms coming from the TV. Long, slow strokes, already my prick is throbbing like a motherfucker, warning me I'll shoot a load any second. I can't help but imagine Bella's full-lipped mouth sliding down on me. Ahh, release. Spunk spills over my hand. Lots of it. I slow my moment down, milking myself until every last drop of the thick fluid has ejaculated. I'm still thinking of the woman I stand no chance with, still thinking it's her who made me come. I don't want to move, but I'm sticky. I've gotta clean this mess up and get some sleep or I'll be a mess in the morning.
I don't usually whack myself off. Only a month ago I had a steady girlfriend, but she dumped me. Yes, by email. Said it wasn't me, it was her. Blah, blah, fucking blah. I know what it was really about. Arlo, her new neighbour. I figured she'd end up hooking up with him sooner or later. I saw it coming, just didn't do anything about it. Guess I didn't really care so much for her or I'd have fought harder. Maybe Bella's to blame. We haven't met. But when I watch her shows I'm mesmerized into her world, pretend we're madly in love with each other and, yeah, maybe I did kinda deserve to be dumped. I neglected the poor woman.
I drift off to sleep, thinking of Bella dancing for me.
* * * *
The shrill morning alarm wakes me. I shower, put on a grey suit and tie, eat a quick breakfast—jam on toast—and make my way through the work day. Meetings, more meetings, a conference, and then dull paperwork catch-up. Life of a small clothing store franchise CEO. Exciting, huh?
I leave late due to HR problems, and decide to walk rather than put up with rush hour madness on the Tube. It doesn't take long to get to my white, Victorian apartment building in Islington, twenty minutes or so, but the brisk evening air helps clear out the day's crap.
I slot my key into the brass lock. Before I turn it, I change my mind. I don't want to go home just yet. I want to see if I can catch the last of Bella Buxom's show. I'm well aware I'm pathetic, hooked on a woman who doesn't know I exist, but I don't care. So I turn and flag down a taxi. If I hurry, I might catch her last act.
The club is lit up like a circus as the taxi pulls up outside. I pay the driver his fee then step out. One-by-one, the light bulbs surrounding the gaudy burlesque sign go dark. It looks like I'm too late. I guess another night with my TV and a tube of lube awaits. Maybe I'll make myself a stir-fry for a treat first. Hmm, yes. Sounds like a plan.
I pivot to head toward the store. That's when I see her. Buxom Bella. Glossy paprika-coloured hair pinned back into a ponytail—cute—and no makeup or glitter. And her fine body is covered with a white rain mac. But it's definitely her. I'd know that cheeky girl anywhere.
My pulse races and I freeze.
She leans against the wall in the side alley next to the fire exit of the club, scowling while banging away at the keys on a bejewelled-pink phone.
I want so badly to saunter over and ask if she wants to go for a drink, but I'm no fool. A lass like Bella would never be interested in a work-focused bloke like myself. I can't skip a chance like this, though, so I stand tall and suck in a deep breath. My lungs fill with oxygen, and my courage grows. I'm gonna be brave. What's the worst that could happen? Rejection? So what? Bella will still sing to me any night I want her to. At the club.
Heart thumbing, hands trembling, I inch through the darkness. I've not taken but two steps before she glances my way.
"You lost?" She appears shaken, eyes wide behind a thin veil of curls fallen free from her hairdo, watchful.
Crap, I scared her. Better put her mind at ease, let her know I'm no Jack the Ripper ASAP. I wave and say, "Hi, Bella, you probably get this all the time but—"
"Yes, I do. So save yourself the rejection, pet, and leave me alone, there's a good boy." She flicks her hand at me, shooing me away. The simple gesture stings, serves as a slap across my face.
"A man has to try." I get it, I'm just some dude who gawks at her on a daily basis. I didn't expect her to fall in love with me. Nah, that was more hope than expectation. I shrug, the ache in me thrice as bad as it usually is post-Bella. Back to Red Shoe Diaries and my stir-fry.
"Wait, I know you." She peers over her shoulder then back to me. "You always sit up front, have a look of a puppy dog wanting a treat. You're adorable when you pant. Puppy, wanna take me for a drink?"
I want to cling to her offering of a sliver of hope, but remind myself she's a tease artist. I grit my teeth to stop a love confessional from spilling and force myself to say, "No, forget it, I can see you don't wanna be bothered."
"Oh, puppy, don't be grumpy." She slams her phone shut and slips it into a shoulder bag big enough to hold several outfit changes. "I'm starving. How about some food? I could devour a chow-mein right about now."
I'm lame and give myself a mental high five. "Perfect, I know a really good—"
"We'll go to Young's. It's just round the corner. And you're paying, okay puppy?"
"My name's—"
"I don't care what your name is, I'm calling you puppy. And you can call me...never. Deal?"
I nod. I don't know why I nod. But I do. It's degrading to be called puppy. Yet endearing and sexy all at once. Anything Bella says is sexy, who am I kidding?
She steps into the stream of light from a nearby street lamp. Her mouth is coated in clear lip gloss and draws my attention. I can't help but watch the extenuated movements of her lips as she says, "I'm starving." Me, too, for some Buxom lovin'.
She struts ahead, her cherry-red Doc Martin boots clunking on the concrete pavement. "Keep up with me, puppy."
Shit, I love how her bottom wiggles. I wanna grab me some of that, and spank it good.
I speed walk a couple of steps until I'm beside her. I can't stop admiring her lips.
Let me buy her dinner? Wait, something doesn't sound right. Oh man, she's beautiful but
she's one of those chicks. I fell right into that one. Suppose it was too good to be true. Beautiful, talented, and nice? Yeah, right. What were the chances of that?
Still, I've offered now, I should see it through. Besides, I can live with paying for dinner. It's the way she expected it that threw me. Like she feels entitled.
I open the door of Young's. Red and gold decorations scream out at me from floor to ceiling. It's super tacky, but people seem happy eating their meals. Maybe it's a hidden gem. One of the best eateries around. She pushes past me and demands to be seating in her usual spot to an eager-to-please host who barely looks old enough to drink. He's just a kid, but seems to enjoy the view when Bella peels away her coat.
She's wearing a really boring, jersey grey dress. But her cleavage is heaving, stretching out the material, extenuating the dip to her waist. Nice. I don't even think she's wearing a bra. I can't help but stare as I try to decide.
After a quick glance of the menu, I understand why she picked this place. Expensive is putting it lightly. Which is a shock to me considering how tasteless the place is. Still, we're shown to a table for two and I pull out the chair for her. She hangs her coat over the back of a red upholstered chair and sits. I sit opposite her. I'm nervous. I have to fist my hands to stop them from shaking.
"So, puppy, thanks for saving me." Bella bats eyelashes in my direction, her baby blues shining so bright and her mouth slightly puckered as if she's thinking of kissing me.
I sigh, I can't help it. I'm no longer shaking, now I'm just horny as hell. My dick grows a few inches. "Huh? What did you say?"
"Thanks for saving me back there, at the club."
"I saved you?"
She lifts the red menu in front of her face, crosses her legs, and says, "My ex texted me. Decided he wanted me back. I'd have given myself to him, too, if you hadn't shown up when you did."
"Glad to be of help." I had thought she was simply a gold digger with a fondness for furry critters. Now I'm not sure what to think. I should find out more about this ex, though. "How big of a hulk is he?"
Coming Together With Curves Page 3