The Last To Know - What I Did Before We Dated

by Bridy McAvoy

  The whole experience had been a big let-down. I’d left the bar with Brad in a state of high sexual excitement, ready to jump him at any point. I’d held myself back until we got indoors, only for him to cum twice in quick succession—way too quick succession—and then slink out, knowing he hadn’t lived up to expectations. At least he hadn’t made a scene. I couldn’t see what I’d done wrong—and I couldn’t really see what he’d done wrong—other than demonstrate lack of stamina and technique. I couldn’t even get my head round the studying I needed to do.

  Monday, I was obviously pensive and withdrawn in the library and Mr. Bryant noticed. I saw him watching me a couple of times during the day, but he didn’t say anything till quitting time. Then he helped me lock up and asked me into his office. He’d even made coffee, which was unusual, except when I was really busy and couldn’t escape the front desk. Despite the fact he tended to get away on time, unless he wanted a blow job, he was relaxed and didn’t pressure me, letting me sip my coffee in silence for a couple of minutes. I guess it was his way of saying, ‘don’t worry, no sex, I don’t expect you to get on your knees, today’.

  It wouldn’t have really worried me if he had demanded that—at least his cock would have filled my mouth properly—allowing me to rinse out the memories.

  “So how was your date Friday night?”

  I put my coffee down and closed my eyes for a second then looked at him. “Wash out. We broke up in the bar.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, it wasn’t working and he walked away.”

  “Regrets?”

  “Nah. He was a Never Evah.”

  He chuckled. “So, if that’s not got you upset, what has?”

  I shrugged and told him the story of Brad, how he’d made a move on me, and how he’d kissed me outside, then the whole tale of Saturday, leaving nothing out. He laughed as I told him about the Starbucks encounter, and how I bought the dress.

  “Describe the dress.”

  “It’s just a dress.”

  “No, it’s more than a dress, because you make such a point about it.”

  “It’s burnt orange in color, with a deep red flame pattern printed on it. It looks like I’m burning form the hem up. It’s short.”

  “How short?”

  I stood up and held my hand about three inches below my butt.

  “That is short.”

  I smiled as I sat down again. The one positive thing from the evening had been the dress—I loved that dress. I guess that’s why I kept it, even though I don’t think I can wear it anymore. Anyway, he asked several more questions about the dress before smiling, a little wistfully.

  “I’m looking forward to an opportunity to see you wearing it.”

  I gasped. He said we’d never meet outside the library, and I only wore a dress for the board meetings. Although they were sexy, they weren’t as blatant as the fire dress.

  “I can’t wear that to a board meeting.”

  He chuckled. “Who said I wanted anyone else to see you in it? Maybe I’ll get you to bring it with you to model for me on a Thursday.”

  Model it—if I wore it I’d be bent over his desk so fast he’d take my breath away. I shuddered at the prospect and then carried on telling him about the Saturday night—all the details. He didn’t interrupt again. Rather, as I wound down, he walked around and perched on the edge of his desk and leaned forward and brushed my cheek. I bit my lip, wondering if despite all his cajoling and pressing for me to date, to sleep with other guys, he was actually jealous now I’d done it.

  Part of me ran with that thought, thinking about his jealousy translating into anger, and as a result I’d provided him with an excuse to use the table tennis bat on me this coming Thursday. Why did he have to wait till Thursday, why not now? I guess my eyes must have got really big again because he laughed.

  “I’d love to know what you’re thinking.” Then his laughter doubled as my face heated up.

  “I’m not going to tell you.”

  “Spoilsport.”

  I sniffed and he just laughed harder still. “So, you finally got yourself another cock. Good for you, Sammie, good for you.”

  I frowned at him and finished my coffee. He reached down and stroked my cheek again and, almost like a kitten, I pressed my cheek against his fingers.

  “Listen, baby, it’s like riding a bike and falling off. You need to get back on the bike again.”

  I snorted. “You mean, be a bike again.”

  “Find yourself another date. If he’s a Bull, fuck him, simple.”

  To me it wasn’t that simple, but, I think unknown to my boss, there was another candidate around. Like Billy, Kirk had been coming into the library quite frequently and he’d asked me out several times. The first time I’d been committed to going out with Billy, so said no, the last time had been Tuesday the previous week, when I’d been getting ready for my third, and as it happened, final, date with Paul. If he asked again, I’d be fancy free.

  As luck would have it, he appeared, like clockwork, on the Tuesday lunchtime. He was straight to the point as he checked out a couple of books. No silly ‘get me off into the stacks’ so he could ask me in private. The fact there was another customer in earshot didn’t faze him at all. I could tell the old lady was listening in, and that increased my embarrassment.

  “So, what excuse are you going to give me this time?”

  “Sorry?”

  “As to why you’re busy on Saturday.”

  This guy was direct, and I’d already classified him as a Bull. I guess I blushed because the woman behind him in the queue was chuckling to herself.

  “Actually, for your information I’m not busy on Saturday.”

  “Good, I’ll pick you up at seven, then.”

  “No you won’t.”

  “So you’re not going to come out with me?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  It was obvious I’d puzzled him. I wasn’t in a position to explain, not with the nosy audience.

  “Look, give me your number and we’ll arrange something, okay?”

  “You’re asking me for my number. It’s on your records.”

  “Of course it is, but I can’t use them for personal business.”

  “Unless I give you my permission.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Then you have my permission.” He winked at me and I fought a losing battle to hide my own smile.

  “Text you later. Bit busy right now.”

  “No problem, looking forward to it.”

  He might be direct, and even bullish, but he was polite. For a moment I wondered about whether I had him misclassified, then realized it didn’t matter. I could make my mind up on Saturday—unless he made my mind up for me, in which case he’d be a Bull. As he walked out of the library, I swear he was whistling. I forced myself to relax and smiled at the woman who’d been queueing behind him—and listening intently while I sorted out my social life.

  “You could do worse.”

  “Sorry?”

  “You could do worse than him. Looked like a Keeper to me. Just throw him back if you don’t want him.” She cackled.

  Did everyone in this damn town have to keep making with the fishing analogies! I shook my head and dealt with her books then watched as she waddled out of the library, clearly amused by what she’d overheard. I guess it made her day, although it had flustered mine. I now had a date for Saturday, and I didn’t know where, or what I was going to do, or how I was going to behave. His good manners had left me doubting my initial judgment.

  An hour or so later things had quietened down, so I looked up Kirk’s number on the library system, and grabbed my cell. Interestingly, I found out his home address was only a mile or so from the condo, which made things convenient for me. I plugged his number in and saved him to my contact details.

  Sorry, I don’t make a good passenger, I was in a bad crash last year. Why don’t I pick you up? Samantha at the library.

  He’d be able to te
ll I wasn’t a confident texter—no shorthand. His reply was there within a couple of minutes.

  Were you hurt? Anybody else? Kirk.

  Yeah, I was. My parents were killed. Samantha.

  The answer this time was even quicker.

  That must have been awful. So sorry to hear that, babe. In that case I accept your offer to drive me to paradise. Kirk.

  I choked back a giggle and looked up to make sure none of the customers could hear me. After all, a library was supposed to be a quiet zone, wasn’t it? It was my job to police that, too. My phone chimed again.

  So, given you’re driving, where are you really taking me? K

  Where were you going to take me? S

  Other than parking, not sure. You want a movie or a meal? K

  Food sounds good. S

  I know a nice fish place by the lake. K

  Sounds good to me. S

  Listen, must get back to work before the boss throws a major curve ball. C U L8r xxx K

  Just like that, I’d landed myself a date. Now I’m at it with the fishing metaphors. Mr. Bryant noticed I was smiling during the afternoon but made no comment. Wednesday passed without incident and then Thursday rolled around. I’d thought about taking the dress into work with me in a carrier to show him, but I knew he liked the look of stockings on my legs, and the dress looked bad, really slutty, with them. Then I realized it didn’t matter. The idea of the way I dressed on Thursday after the library closed was to turn him on. What better way than to look really slutty from the get go?

  So I took the dress with me, and at one o’clock begged for him to let me use the washroom for ten minutes and surprise him. I think he guessed because he smiled as he nodded and, grabbing the bag, I shot into the washroom before he could change his mind.

  It didn’t take me long to lose my tight black skirt and the blouse that had covered my black underwear. This was a new set, black with a little red lace trim around the top edges of the cups of the bra, while the lace ran down the sides of the suspenders too. The panties were plain black lace, and just about transparent—I knew that was his favorite look. I hadn’t had an orgasm for a week—for some reason I hadn’t even masturbated—so I had a head of steam by the time I fished the dress out of the bag and pulled it over my head.

  I’d been right, the dress looked obscene with the suspenders and stockings—it didn’t reach the tops of my stockings by a good two inches, thus exposing naked thigh flesh. I mentally kicked myself for forgetting to bring a pair of black stockings with me to complete the look rather than the tan ones I was wearing. Nothing I could do about it now. I pulled the two hair bands out of my pony-tail and shook it, then, using the mirror to make sure I got them balanced, tied two bunches instead. The bunches sticking up either side of my head made me look really young. A quick coat of lip gloss completed the look. Stepping back so I could get the whole effect in the mirror, I shuddered. To my own eyes I looked like sex on legs, very long legs. My nerve almost failed me, but I opened the door and sauntered across the corridor and softly knocked on his open office door.

  He was leaning against the front edge of his desk waiting for me, and I could see I’d surprised him. I glanced down and watched as his cock expanded within his trousers. That was a rush, a real feeling of power as I noticed the effect I could have on a man. Sure I’d noticed erections before, especially his, but not in the same way. I swallowed hard and when he beckoned me forward I walked across the carpet toward him.

  “You are fucking amazing, Sammie. Fucking amazing.”

  He made me stand still and he once again walked around me, looking me over from every angle. I felt his hand brush against my back, then drop to gently fondle my ass cheeks, before dropping to touch my thighs in the gap between the hem of the skirt and the top of my stockings. The touch was light enough to tickle and I shivered but otherwise remained standing still.

  “Fucking amazing, and amazingly fuckable.”

  I knew then I’d made the right choice. His vocabulary might have been a little stunted, but I knew he was going to give me what I craved—at least one orgasm.

  Usually he got me to suck him off before he ate me till I was a limp noodle on his desk, but I guess the dress had inflamed him—sorry for the pun. He went from zero to a hundred miles an hour and before I could do more than gasp in reaction he’d grabbed me, spun me round, lifted me to the desk and pushed me down to lie back as his hands pushed my skirt up.

  He didn’t bother removing my panties, just pushed his face between my spread legs and started licking the front of them. It felt incredible as his tongue pushed the thin black fabric into my slit, inflaming my desire to ever greater heights. I was panting, my hands clutching at the back of his head as he kept up the slow torture. Despite the earlier speed, he wasn’t in any kind of hurry now that he had me at his mercy. He just nuzzled and licked at my underwear until they were a sopping mess from my secretions and his saliva. He didn’t stop until I’d shuddered and moaned through a climax, then, as I calmed down, he stripped my underwear off me and really went to town on me.

  I must have looked a sight, lying there on his desk with a sexy, very short dress, crumpled up around my waist. I suppose it didn’t matter if it was short, it would have been around my waist anyway. My legs were spread apart, one pair of very wet panties hooked around one foot. The shoulder straps of the dress were peeled down to allow me to slip one hand inside one of the bra cups, while the bald head of my boss was working at the juncture of my legs.

  To be honest, I don’t know how many orgasms I had—six, maybe seven—before he backed off. I said he sometimes left me like a limp noodle after he’d done—that day I was just a smear of wetness on his desk. I couldn’t breathe. I heard his zip drawn down, assumed he was going to fuck me, but he had a different idea. I guess all that mouth to pussy action had taken a toll on his psyche, so he just jerked off onto my stomach. The first thing my lust-fogged brain registered was the sudden splatter of hot sticky liquid on my stomach. Then another, and another, as he kept cumming on me.

  By the time he backed away and I struggled up to a sitting position, the whole of my stomach looked gross. My landing strip was matted with his goo, and tendrils of it coated everything from my loins to my belly button, including the garter belt.

  He didn’t let me clean up, just left me sitting there while he watched his ejaculate dry and crust on me. He made me sit still for over half an hour as he watched me. By then I’d recovered and, to be honest, sitting like that had turned me off. It had worked as recovery time, I guess. Then, without speaking to me he walked around to his desk and opened that top left drawer. I thought he was going to pull out the table tennis bat, and I gasped. I had a date on Saturday and I couldn’t go on a date with a red ass.

  What he pulled out made me giggle. I’d seen pictures of handcuffs with fluffy pink restraints but I’d never seen a pair for real. They looked ridiculous, and my giggle almost turned into hysteria. The giggle died, though, when he pulled me to my feet, dragged my arms behind me and I heard two clicks, one after the other. I could feel the restraints around my wrists—he’d cuffed me in the silly pink things. They didn’t feel bad, but I couldn’t separate my arms.

  He moved round in front of me and reached up to my shoulders, pulling the shoulder straps of my dress down almost to the elbows. This forced my arms into a more uncomfortable position and I gasped. A moment later he pulled the front of the dress down, fully revealing the previously, only partially, exposed bra.

  “Not laughing now, are we?”

  I shook my head, feeling suitably chastened.

  “The underwear looks nice, baby. Very nice. New set?”

  “Yes.”

  “Go stand by the door. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  I did as he asked, then he gestured for me to face out into the corridor. I did as I was told. I could hear him rummaging around in that drawer again and my apprehension grew. I really feared him using that bat on me, but he didn’t. Instead he wal
ked over to me, grabbed hold of my left arm and dragged me out into the main body of the library. Of course, there was nobody there, and I’d made sure the blinds were drawn on the doors so nobody could see in. However, as usual, when he took our play outside his office, my apprehension grew. He hadn’t done so as often recently as he had done before. It was the first time he’d ever restrained me though, and I could do nothing else other than walk alongside him as he half-led, half-dragged me to the end of the first stack near my desk.

  These front stacks had metal-framed ends rather than the solid wooden ones down the back and he pushed me face forward against one of them. I was almost facing my own work station.

  “Stand still.”

  I did what he said as he unhooked one of the cuffs then pulled it down to the sides, slipping the straps of my dress off my elbows. I gave a sigh of relief—they’d been cutting in. He pulled the shoulder straps of my bra down and repeated the process but left the bra still fastened around me. With sudden clarity I knew he was going to tie me up again, and now the straps were off my arms, he could strip me naked while I was tied up. I guess that thought played across my face because he chuckled. Without me resisting, he lifted my left arm, the one with the cuff still attached, over my head. He attached the free cuff to the metal frame and reached into his pocket, pulling out a second set of cuffs and chained my right hand up next to my left one. I was now facing him, defenseless, as he stood back and admired his handiwork. Before I could say anything he stepped forward, lifted the front of my dress and tucked it into the garter belt, leaving me very exposed lower down.

  He seemed dissatisfied so, stepping forward again, he undid the right cuff, spun me round to face away from him, and then refastened the cuff with my chest pressed against the metal bars of the end of the stack.

  Now he had full access to my body from behind. I guess he didn’t want frontal access given the mess he’d left on my stomach. He confirmed that by lifting and tucking the dress into my garter belt at the back, just as he had done at the front. I was effectively naked below the waist, and unable to stop him either stripping me completely, or doing whatever he wanted.